The Great Casserole Incident

Is EVERYONE having a crappy week so far? It’s hot, the bugs are shaking me down for my milk money, and Chick-fil-a has finally pissed me off enough to back away from their sammiches and kind offers to refresh my beverage. Yesterday was just a wreck of a day, and today is kind of like that nasty skin on pudding. Which reminds me what a travesty it is that Pudding Pops are no longer made. Yeah, I know I can make them, but they’re not the same. Not the same. My heart knows the difference.

Yesterday just seemed to need some levity so I started tweeting about this macaroni and cheese I was making. I kick it old school with the MandC. Oh, I’m not opposed to the blue box, no. But if I’m making it, I’m going to do it up right. Bechemel sauce is involved. Lots of very snooty gourmet cheddar with just enough ‘Merican for smoothness. Making MandC seems to be a good time to use up all the cheese butts we have. Do you guys have lots of cheese butts in your fridge or is that just us? You think it’s not really enough to do anything with and so you buy more in an endless cycle of cheese butt production? No? Okay then. Point being I made a metric fuckton of MandC and thought maybe I could be someone’s Laff Monkey for a while by discussing it at length on the interwebz. It just seemed like we all needed general goofiness.

Here’s the gist of the Big Ass Casserole Discussion:

Right. So the calls, IMs, and texts start coming.

“You still working on getting those meds adjusted?”

” You’re posting like a college kid who has had nothing but Red Bull and coffee for three straight days. It is entertaining, but just wanted to make sure you’re OK.”

“I know you southerners had a different relationship with food and I appreciate that! Just wanted to be sure things were going ok down there.”

“Bizarre behavior on FB is like the new canary in the mineshaft.”

“Oh, kitten.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Need to talk?”

“Can we talk?”

“Just to remind all of you who know my family, today is one of those days when you can look at me and say, he didn’t turn out so strange after all.”

“What’s for dinner?”

I was simultaneously heartened and horrified by how quickly my friends rushed to make sure I was okay. Well, except two of my closest friends who have SEEN some shit with me, man. I was touched to know people were genuinely concerned for my sanity and slightly glad that seemed like abnormal behavior for me. The thing is if inane blabber about pasta will take someone’s mind off all.the.crap. for a couple of minutes, then stand aside while I tell you about how I was STUNNED at the range of extension cord options at the hardware store.

Dude, I’m serious. I’m posting about extension cords tomorrow.

Of all Al Gore’s inventions, the internet is probably my favorite. The Leftovers button on the microwave is my second favorite one. (HOW DOES IT KNOW?) I love the internet because sometimes you need to create word vomit about cheesy comfort food and some people need to hear it. And you don’t want a steady diet of  macaroni and cheese any more than you want a steady diet of hearing about my bunions. You don’t, do you? I mean, I could make that happen. No, that would be one of those boundary things my husband keeps talking about it. Hearing a PERSON talk about how she might or might not have accidentally flashed the patrons of the Union Ave. Kroger when she bent over to retrieve the grocery list she dropped in the olive bar is much, much different than 4,295 media outlets bombarding you with pictures of The Starlet Of The Moment “accidentally” flashing her very expensive wax job while getting out of a zebra print Hummer.

Just spit it out, already!

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