Our annual 3rd of July KaboomTown extravaganza, this year called Shish-Ka-Boom, was a huge success. I got off work pretty early and hit the grocery store on the way home. I picked up some beef shish-ka-bobs that were already skewered with vegetables. So much easier than trying to figure out the process on my own. And as an added bonus, the bargain expired meat bin is never without a few shish-ka-bobs, so a couple packages of them were half off -- just because they'd turned grey!

Then for dessert, I bought a huge thing of strawberries and a Sara Lee pound cake. I cut the strawberries in half and cut the cake into little cubes. Then I put them on bamboo skewers. I whipped some fresh cream with sugar and vanilla. And made a chocolate ganache out of Giardelli chocolate chips, two shots of real espresso, a teaspoon and a half of vanilla, and a little bit of fresh cream. I sprinkled the plate of dessert shish-ka-booms with a few random blueberries just so it would be red, white and blue. It was so delicious. I really think Ina might have approved of this spread.

Then we all watched the spectacular fireworks and got drunk. Not a single fight this year! So proud of all of our friends. Now tonight its time to switch modes to birthday celebration. My birthday is tomorrow so I arranged a little get together at a bar here in Addison. I purposely didn't put and RSVP thing on it because I'd rather just go out there with Daniel and drink a few beers and see who shows up. I didn't want to get a bunch of positive RSVPs and then be left at the bar alone crying. Set the bar low and be pleasantly surprised if it rocks. That's my new mantra.

So anyway, if you want to come, give me a ring and I'll disclose the secret location.

Last night we were watching Planet Earth with RyanShort. He's only seen the BBC version narrated by John Hammond, and we've always told him how much better Sigourney Weaver is. I think it was Ice Worlds that we were watching and they were showing a hawk swooping in to kill some ptarmagin. I decided to relate to another episode where Sigourney refers to hawks as the fighter jets of the bird world. Only, I was going to jazz it up by saying, "Hawks are the F-16s of the bird world." Only, I actually said, "Hawks are the F150s of the bird world." I'm such a tard. So we had a good laugh and made lots of comments in our best Sigourney voices like, "With their four wheel drive and extended cabs, hawks truly are the F150s of the bird world."

Maybe my head was a little bit out of it due to the pumpkin pie martinis I attempted to make last night. We had one at the Bacarat Bar in Bellagio and it was so delicious that I asked the waitress what was in it and she said vanilla vodka, goldschlager, and pumpkin pie puree. So I combined all 3 and it was just terrible. So I added more vodka. When that didn't work, I added more pumpkin. When that didn't work, I added milk. By now things were way out of hand. I checked the recipe on the back of the can of pumpkin puree and you're supposed to add evaporated milk and sugar. Derrrr. We totally forgot to sweeten it. Turns out, pumpkin out of a can is pretty disgusting. I always thought you just spooned that into a pie crust and ate it. Someone should invent that. But of course, I was out of sugar, so I made some simple syrup out of brown sugar, ladeled in a few heaping scoops of the resulting liquid and then, the now full pitcher, held a delcious holiday concoction. Unfortunately it was way to thick and filling so we each sipped half a glass and washed the rest down the drain. But now that I know what I did wrong, i think I could make it again much better just by adding sugar from the get go.

In other news, I'm officially writing a cookbook. Not for the inevitable fame and fortune that comes with it, but because I want to be a guest judge on Iron Chef America. And as far as I know, writing a cookbook is the best and fastest way to get there. How hard could it be? If you've known me for a while, you should be able to guess the title. I can't post it here though because I don't want it to get stolen from me.

And finally, today, I think we'll close with a one-liner. My parents got their free slip-resistant covers for their Wii remotes, affectionately known as Wii condoms. But they only got two, so we have two with condoms, two without. Stephen asked me if I needed one with a condom, but I didn't, so I put the strap around my wrist and said, "You know what I always say. If you've got a strap on, you don't need a condom."

Good night everybody!

Good morning, boys and girls. Today I greet you from the confines of my very spacious and comfortable bed. And although I am breaking one of the covenants of sleep by doing something other than sleeping or fucking in bed, I'm afraid I have very little choice. You see, it wasn't my internet that was broken, it was my wireless router. And since I know precious little about networking, and am employed somewhere where I basically do nothing but troubleshoot all day every day, I have very little interest in trying to fix it. So for now, I'm just going to plug in in my bedroom. Who knows, maybe if I ignore the problem long enough, it'll go away. Seems to work for everything else. At least Ryan Short gave me his extra 6' cable, so I could quit using the 6" cable that ties my router to the wall.

He gave it me to pay for the lunch that I made him. I think maybe you should all start calling me Sidesho With His Shoes Off. I was watching Ina Garten (Contessa With Her Shoes Off) the other day and she was making roasted tomato basil soup. And I thought to myself, "I could do that. I could fuckin do that." So I printed out the recipe and went to the store. The only edits I had to make were soy margarine instead of butter and vegetable stock instead of chicken broth. Cooking is so much easier than baking because you can make substitutions without it ruining everything. But seriously, folks, this soup was from absolute scratch. I chopped up onions and garlic cloves and sauteed them in margarine and olive oil with a sprinkle of red pepper flakes. Meanwhile my tomatoes cut in half were tossed in olive oil, salt, and pepper and were roasting in the oven. Then I mixed them with a can of whole tomatoes, vegetable stock, a shit ton of fresh basil, and thyme. After that boiled and simmered for 40 minutes, I busted out my brand new immersion blender and went to town. Awesome. I do have to say my tomato basil soup was a smidge better than La Madelines. And now that I'm confident in the recipe, I can totally tweak it to my liking.

Being a vegan is proving more challenging than good, clean living. But it is distracting me a little bit from the pains of withdrawl. Unfortunately, it's also making me gassy. I've never had gas before. It's bizarre. I have to assume that drastically altering my diet is to blame and hopefully it'll calm down once I get situated. Because I'll tell you one thing, I will either starve or explode before I break Febrehabruariii. I committed to this and I'm going to see it through til the end, but at this point, don't expect me to be a vegan again next year.

Best wishes to my fellow Febrehabruariiites, especially Matt Cweech who has taken this to the extreme and is ingesting nothing but lemonade for a month. You are truly more hardcore than I, sir. Laaaaaaaaaate.

I just spent a good 10 minutes cleaning up about a whole cup of sugar from the counter tops and floor of my kitchen. You might think I'd be annoyed by the necessity, given the Fantastik-sugar slurry that is embedded in my fingernails, or the history of ants I've had in this apartment, but you'd be wrong. I was chuckling heartily the entire time.

I chuckled because the sugary dusting reminded me of yet another good time from the other drunken night with Thommi and Brett Sabulous. It was around 3am ... or maybe 6am, who remembers ... and I decided I was hungry. Since I've been out of town for a week my fridge is understandably barren. Sidenote: Why is refrigerator abbreviated fridge? Where the fuck did the 'D' come from? I guess because frige might be pronounced [frig*gy]? Where was I? Oh yeah -- empty friggy.

So I channeled the spirits of Contessa With Her Shoes Off and set about making a fabulous dinner party. If I learned one thing in my stint as an aspiring cook, it's that anything can be fried in butter ... and everything is better fried in butter. So I took a tortilla and a frying pan and set to work. The first one was pretty good and after sharing my concoction with my guests, there were three chefs in the kitchen. Three chefs with ideas for improvements. We set about to spicing things up.

The first thing we found in the ol' spice cabinet (I call it that because it's the only cabinet that has more than zero spices in it ... and less than three) was garlic salt. A few massive crispy garlic salt chips later and we were back in the ol' spice cabinet looking for round two -- not to mention downing beers to rehydrate our tongues. Sugar! Fuck yeah! Sugar would be fantastic. So Brett made a few sugar tortillas. Not bad ... but lacking. I kicked it up a notch by making a bowl of cimanimanon sugar. As I fried my butter tortilla, I hit it with pinches of cimanimanon sugar. It was alright, but not really flavorful enough.

Brett informed me that the traditional way to sugar pastries is with a sifter ... which I just happened to have. He said three sifts of sugar should be perfect. So I got my sifter out, Brett held it above the tortilla, and I poured the bowl of sugar into it. It turns out that sifters really only work with confectioners sugar, not so much with cane. It all fell immediately thru and piled on top of our dessert. Unphased, we both said, "Ooooonnnnneeee!" Two empty sifts later and we had the best fucking drunken breakfast ever dreamed up.

So anyway, that's why I cleaned up all night. I guess I could have just said, "We fried tortillas in butter and put sugar on them," but I think the long version was much, much better. See you skillets on the flip siiiiiiide.