I’ve been in a slight mental rut lately. I blame Henry. Somehow, someway, he’s behind this awful malaise.
Luckily, my MICHIGAN FRIENDS Bill and Jessi are visiting this weekend. They came in last night around 7:30 bearing gifts of baked goods, wine, and a Fantastic Four Bop Bag for Chooch. Of course, it only took him about 30 minutes to injure himself on it, and I think Bill and Jessi felt badly about that but they shouldn’t because he finds creative ways to hurt himself even without the aid of extraneous apparati.
They brought me what Bill kept touting as The Best Pie In the World. I graciously snatched it from his hands and thanked him, but in the back of my mind, I’m thinking, “Yeah, I’ll be the judge of that.” AND IT WAS THE BEST PIE IN THE WORLD. Oh my fucking shit, I can’t even begin to extol it’s virtues, but it’s got like a billion berries in it and some delicious creamy custard-like substance that creates this orgasmic stratum akin to a sucrose reach-around.
Before they embarked on their road trip yesterday, they texted me to see what Henry’s favorite baked good is. This is something that, despite spending the last eight years together, I didn’t know the answer to. Mostly this can be chalked up to the fact that in my mind, Henry doesn’t have any favorites, interests, or thoughts. I called him to find out the answer to this million dollar question, but when he didn’t answer, I texted back what I would want: anything pumpkin flavored.
So “Henry” got a pumpkin bar. And that was delicious, too.
We decided to go down the street to Eat n Park for a late dinner. Normally, we would walk since I only live a few blocks from it, but it was drizzling and chilly, so we drove. After dinner (a large part of which was spent watching Bill and Chooch thrown down with monster finger puppets, thank god I had a bag of them in my purse), it was raining harder. As we walked back to their mini-van, Jessi goes, “Good thing we didn’t walk,” and Chooch (who is only three, remember), retorted with a very teenagery, “I know, right?”
Back at my house, We began drinking this delightful concoction which is homemade by one of Bill and Jessi’s friends. It’s called Apple Pie, and it’s a homebrewed beverage made from apple cider, apple juice, cinnamon sticks and Everclear. It honestly tasted like an apple pie’s life fluid had been siphoned into red plastic cups so idiots like me can immediately get corcked and start talking super loud and laughing at things that Henry says. THINGS THAT HENRY SAYS. Like that would ever happen otherwise.
Here’s Jessi after one small cup:
And here is me after two cups, plus some wine:
This was taken by Chooch, who can now operate the crappy point and shoot we have. He likes to leave a finger hovering in front of the lens; it’s his signature. Oh, how I celebrate the day he discovered this camera. Nothing pleases me more than taking time out of my day to delete unflattering photos of me and my chins.