After last year’s poor turn out, I swore I wasn’t going to have another pie party. But by August, people were beginning to ask when I was having the next pie party, and I felt bullied into it, you guys. BULLIED!

Not really. But I did feel really happy that some of my friends were demanding that the tradition live on. So I looked at the stupid Steelers schedule like a good little girl and picked a Sunday that those assholes weren’t hoarding. The Steelers take over everything, you know? God forbid I should have to share a day with them.

Then I asked my friends on Facebook if any of them would be interested in a third annual pie feast, and the response was not only positive, but even kind of fervent! Who knew that the pie party would ever have become such a big thing?

Even though I still wasn’t feeling it, I sent out the official Facebook invitation right away, two months in advance, and was delighted that people began RSVPing right away. That was enough to make me finally get excited. But I think it was mostly because I like naming things, and I was kind of proud of “Third Coming of Crust.”

I vowed that this year’s piesta was going to be better than the rest. I was going to decorate! I was going to give awards! I was finally going to make that goddamn mulled wine that has been talked about since Pie Party: Origins!

But then I got caught up in decorating for Halloween, going to haunted houses, and the Walking Challenge. (Which I have all but abandoned, along with pretty much everyone else in our department, it seems. There’s no competition this time! No one talks about it! Everyone is so ambivalent about it.) Before I knew it, it was the week of the party and Henry was in a state of total panic about baking pies and collecting all of the pie-eating accoutrements, like plates, napkins, beverage—he stresses about beverage every year and I’m like, “Hello, you work in a Faygo factory?”

All of this is me trying to say I woke up the morning of the pie party woefully unprepared as usual.

I. The Set-Up

So, Henry does this thing EVER YEAR where we all go to the pavilion an hour before Go Time and then he LEAVES. One year it was to “get more tablecloths.” Last year, it was to ‘pick up his mom.” This year it was to “go home and get the pies.”

It took three pie parties to figure out but I’m pretty sure this is all code for “go to a strip club and regain some of the masculinity I lose every year by co-hosting a pie party.”

I wonder if Porky + Pearl are still together, or if Jason Voorhees has shish kebabbed them on his machete by now.

My brother was supposed to come early to help me decorate, but he had a headache and didn’t even come to the party (probably his way of skirting all the “this is my colorblind brother!” introductions). This left me and a 6-year-old alone to assemble and hang paper lanterns.

Wait, that doesn’t sound so harmful, right?

Let me rephrase.

This left an Erin Kelly and a 6-year-old alone with a STAPLE GUN.

I finally said FUCK THIS NOISE and abandoned the decorating for the swing set, at which point the annual false starts began, and by that I mean the motorcade of people who cruise down to the pie party pavilion for things other than showing up at a party they were invited to, such as: parking to walk their dog, using the Porta Potty, turning around, doing recon for their own pie party. Each time, I fell for it and went running toward the car, ready to accost a guest.

“It’s amazing how everything happens after I leave,” Henry said when Chooch and I were telling him about this later. At first I thought he didn’t believe us and I went to reach for the melon baller, but he was being serious.

It’s true though. One of these days, Henry is going to ditch us at a pavilion and we’re going to get abducted.

Actually, I hope that does happen. I pity the fool that attempts to steal Chooch.

Finally, Pete and Seri arrived and I glommed on to Pete immediately. Before he could feel too flattered, I explained that I was only coveting his tallness, and put him to work hanging the lanterns. He seemed OK with that.

In the end, I had some crappy lanterns hanging from rafters, tea light-filled mason jars and fake flowers in old bottles on all of the tables. The bottles were part of my old collection, the majority of which I’ve pitched in the last year in an effort to declutter. My favorite was the bottle of tequila that still had the worm in it (I dumped it out before anyone got there).

I mean, I tied ribbons to each bottle—that’s effort, right?

II. Pie Eaters!

By 2:00, my pie peeps started rolling in steadily.

Guest List!

• Trish & PJ
• John, Jennifer and their kids
• Henry’s sister Kelly and Zac
• Henry’s oldest son, Robbie
• Gina and Elissa
• 

You can tell I gave them so much time to prepare for this

• Henry’s mom Judy
• Henry’s niece Sam and her friends Heidi and a girl whose name I didn’t catch but she had colorful hair
• Kara and Harland

• Henry’s niece Stephanie and her boyfriend Kian
• Kian’s mom
• Rick and Tammy

• Pete, Seri and their kids
• Jamie and Crosby
• Brad and Casey
• Barb
• Wendy

• Kaitlin
• Bridget
• Catherine
• Regina
• Lisa and Matt

• Amber¹ and her twin sister Ashley
• Amber², her husband Steve, and her mom
• Rocky
• Laura
• Missy and Jemma

The pie party is great for not only gormandizing the fuck out of a seemingly endless buffet of pies, but for reuniting with old friends! My friend Rocky showed up unexpectedly – I haven’t seen him since HIGH SCHOOL. Every pie party brings another old friend back and it is probably my favorite part – maybe second only to criticizing Henry’s pie contributions. The first pie party was also the first time I saw my old friends John, Shannon and Ron since high school as well, and last year it was Nancy’s turn to be the blast from the past.

The lesson here is that pie brings people together, y’all. Learn it.

Another surprise appearance was Rick and Tammy, who had told me they weren’t going to be able to make it. I talk about them a lot (in the good ways, not the Henry ways), so I was excited for my friends to meet them, specifically Barb so she could finally stop picturing Simon Baker every time I would talk about my friend Rick the mentalist. Keeping with the theme of this year’s pie orgy, they brought a stack of pie pans stuffed full of mini bags of chips and pretzels (or what we pie aficionados refer to as palate cleansers) and called it the Anti-Crust because they are BRILLIANT. They, along with their salty bestowal, were big hits!

Most of the people were from my work, so I joked that it was Law Firm sponsored. I love that my work friends actually like to hang out outside of work! Every other job I’ve had, it was like pulling teeth trying to get my co-workers to hang out. Of course, that could always be because they just didn’t like me.

Now that I think about it, that’s probably definitely why.

Coming up: The Pies, The Kids, Surprise AAA Appearance, and possibly a short Henry interview if I can seduce any words out of him.

7 comments

Why do I keep having parties? All they do is stress me the fuck out. And you know, this time, I was trying to be more lackadaisical about it but all that did was make me wake up Saturday morning to a constricted chest and a build-up of pre-party heart palpitations. And it wasn’t like there was a ton to do — Henry just had to make two pies while I roamed around the house, looking at my imaginary Swatch watch and calling him a motherfucker.

“I don’t know why you get so stressed out when I’m the one who has to do everything,” Henry called out from the kitchen, elbow-deep in butterscotch, while I zoned out to Chiodos and buffed my fingernails. Finally, he finished his pistachio pie and deemed the butterscotch pie as “getting there,” so we packed it all up and split for the pavilion; upon arrival, Henry had already written a list of a hundred things he forgot, which meant Chooch and I got to hang out alone in the pavilion while he “ran real quick” to the store.

I. False Hope

While I was chastising my son for being 5 and incapable of using a swingset on his own, a car pulled up the dirt part alongside the pavilion. Chooch and I ran a Special Olympics practice lap toward it just as a man was emerging from the driver’s side. It wasn’t anyone I recognized, but I am never one to turn away a pie aficionado.

“Do you mind if I take some pictures of my wife?” he asked. That’s when I noticed that in place  of a checkered bib fastened around his neck and a pie fork in each hand, he came equipped with his camera, his very pregnant wife, and a young kid.

Oh.

Hopes crushed, I gave them the green light and Chooch and I moped back to the playground with our heads down. Maybe that was just me. It was already past the start of the party and no one had arrived, so what did I care if some weirdos were taking lovey-dovey family portraits over by the porta john.

Then another car pulled down and around the pavilion, so Chooch and I jumped up and cheered just in time for the two strangers in the car to leer at us as they drove back up the road.

“What the fuck?!” I yelled to the party gods, who were clearly angry with me for some reason. Not sending thank you cards fast enough after my birthday party? God, fuck off.

Finally, Henry came back at the same time my brother Corey and his girlfriend Danielle arrived, so they were here for the next fake out, when a pick up truck pulled into the lot across the street but then it turned out to be some assholes bringing their dog to the park for a walk. It was nearly 2 at this point and I started to cry a little.

II. The Horse

The incredibly affectionate family/pie party crashers had taken a break in their photo session long enough to plop down for a picnic in the grass. We were sitting at a table under the pavilion, openly mocking them, when Corey noticed a horse coming out of the woods. Atop the horse sat a poised older woman in some kind of fucking safari hat and chambray shirt. Corey could not stop talking about how poised she was, like she was expecting to be photographed or draped with a champion’s sash.  Everyone (but me) took turns telling her how beautiful her horse was as she clomped off toward the playground.

Chooch decided that he HAD TO GO TO THE SWINGSET at this moment and he would have to RUN AS FAST AND AS LOUDLY as he possibly could because it might not be there much longer. Off he ran like a madman, ignoring Henry’s warnings of “Don’t run near the horse——aw, shit.”

Too late.

The horse got spooked and started to buck. The bitch on his back was suddenly less than poised as she tried to get him to calm down. We all just sat there and stared, and then I had to turn away because I was laughing so hard. We’re all so incredibly irresponsible when it comes to that kid.

At least she wasn’t thrown off the horse, I guess.

III. This Is My Brother, Corey; He’s Color Blind

Since there still wasn’t a party happening, Corey, Danielle and Chooch sat down and colored some Star Wars pictures. Thank god for crayons and coloring books.

“You know I’m color-blind, right?” Corey asked me.

“What? No!” I replied.

“Yeah, I found out when I was like, 7 and got my first pair of glasses. The doctor was basically like, ‘You’re color-blind as fuck.’ I can’t believe you’ve known me for 21 years and didn’t know this!

” Corey said, mock-offended.

Meanwhile, Chooch was chastising Corey for coloring Luke Skywalker totally wrong and I was like, “Dude doesn’t know his colors, Chooch. He can’t help it.” I tried to give Corey a sympathetic smile but I couldn’t stop laughing long enough.

Anyway, the point of Corey’s story is that his color-retardedness is affecting his ability to excel in one of his classes, so his adviser intervened and told the professor about Corey’s “condition,” at which point he was sent to the disability office and had to sit among suicidal students and a guy with one leg.

This was so ridiculously funny to me that I could not stop laughing and talking about it. All day long, whenever someone new would arrive (and yes, people did eventually arrive), I would introduce Corey as “my brother; he’s color-blind.” Show me your weakness and I will mock you relentlessly.

 IV. The Butterscotch Blunder

People were finally beginning to arrive and Henry let me set out the pistachio pie (which was like spooning a cloud from Heaven into your mouth; I bet angels get breast implants made from this sweet fluff) but said that the butterscotch pie still wasn’t ready.

“Don’t touch it!” he barked preemptively when I made to open the weird helium-balloon looking cooler stowing the runny pie. “I just checked it and it still hasn’t jelled.” He tugged on his coller a little and then took another swig of his iced tea jug.

This pretty much went on all day, this dance around the reverse pie-incubator, until finally it was 6:30 and everyone had left with nary a slice of butterscotch pie (which is one of my all-time favorite pies and I haven’t had it in years because my mom doesn’t care enough about me to bake me one, but she’ll still bake them FOR HER EX-HUSBAND WTF). I was devastated. Yes, I had shoveled multiple varities of fruit- and cream-filled desserts between my oscillating lips, but there was a void that couldn’t be filled by any berry or Nutella. I needed that fucking butterscotch.

(Two pies came close though: Kaitlin made a black forest pie and then told Henry to suck it; and Laura’s fiance Mike baked one of the best apple pies with a crust soaked in some sort of sex nectar, I don’t even know but I think I may have broken a few laws with it in my mouth.)

V. The Park

Everyone is always bitching about how hard it is to find park pavilions, no matter what park we’re at, so fuck that: the next pie party will be at a strip club. Maybe then people will actually show up.

And then there won’t be any stink bugs to freak people out. Just crabs.

VI. Where’s the Avocado Pie?

Henry didn’t make the avocado pie this year and of course everyone was like, “Did Henry make the avocado pie?” No, Henry didn’t make the avocado pie because he was too busy fucking up the butterscotch pie.

VII. Pictures of People Eating Pie

Pie Eaters:

• Me me me me
• Henry and Chooch
• Laura
• Corey and Danielle
• Robbie and Karen
• Ron
• John, Jennifer, Abby and Gavin
• Nancy and her baby, Joey
• Jamie and her baby, Crosby
• Barb
• Kaitlin
• Sandy and Elena
• Sean and Kylie
• Joy and John
• Kristen and her dog, Joey
• Blake and Shannon
• Henry’s mom Judy
• Henry’s sister Kelly
• Zac
• Janna

 Henry bought some sort of pie shower caps, except I thought he said they were for vaginas. I was so confused, but figured it was something he saw his ex using one time, so I didn’t question it.

I don’t think these kids stopped moving long enough to eat even a bite of pie.

WHAT WERE THEY TALKING ABOUT? It seems so intense.

Since it was an open house-type of party, people came and went all day. Henry kept trying to make everyone take pie home with them, because the pie:person ratio was totally ridiculous this year. There were some pies that hadn’t even been cut into by the end of the day. Was everyone on a diet this year?

We even considered handing off some pie to the picnicking pregnant family down by the porta john.

Joy’s fiance John asked me what started the whole pie party thing. When I told him that it was basically because I wanted pie and wondered how I could trick people into bringing me some, I think he believed me but I’m not sure. It’s kind of cool how much people enjoy pillaging a spread of pies in a park pavilion on a beautiful autumn day, though.

Probably frowning at Kaitlin’s black forest pie.

Laura actually likes having her photo taken, so she doesn’t care when I sneak up on her.

Overall, it was a great day, great weather, great pies, and great people. But by 6:00, I was writhing around and yelling WHY DID YOU LET ME EAT SO MUCH PIE!? because everything is Henry’s fault.

The next morning, Henry finally admitted that he fucked up the butterscotch pie, which had never jelled, not even after a full 24 hours. There goes your spot on the Food Network, Henry, you fuck-up.

7 comments

[Ed. Note: I’m recycling last year’s post, because my new Lady of Leisure status has left me trifling.]

If this looks more like something you’d want to motorboat and less like something that’s sucker-punching your gag reflex, then read on.

I love pie. For years, I’ve wanted to have a pie party but usually complacency sets in and I put it on the backburner.

But then Henry made an avocado pie for my mom’s 2010 Labor Day cookout and it was smooth as silk, tangy, rich and to be honest, I just closed my eyes and smiled while thinking about it. He even made a citrus-tinged whipped cream. I’m always looking for excuses to have him bake pies, and since last year’s pie party was such a toothy success, I decided to have another one! (Actually, it was decided by the hungry masses who have been “casually” asking since last October 10, 2010, “Say, when are you going to have another pie party?”)

It’s going to be held at a pavilion in South Park, and the invitation is open to any local person reading this who has a propensity for pies (or anyone who likes pies enough to travel to Pittsburgh!). I’ve decided that we’ll have alcohol at this fall fete because I can’t imagine spending an autumn day outside, eating pie, with NO MULLED WINE to wash it down.

(I probably will procrastinate on the mulled wine front, and end up just bringing regular wine. Besides, I don’t have a cauldron. So if you want to BYOWorB, be my guest! The alcohol permit is $50 so if anyone wants to chip in a buck or two, that would be magically fantastical. Last year, we didn’t get a permit and smuggled in 4 bottles of wine, and I couldn’t relax the whole time because I thought every single car that drove past was an unmarked park ranger ready to arrest me. This year I decided it was worth paying the extra money so now we can do kegstands if we want without hiding behind a porta potty.)

If we’re not friends on Facebook, here is the official event notice:

A Pretentiously Perplexing Pie Party

Saturday, October 8, 2011

1:00PM – 6:00PM

A Pavilion in South Park, TBD (Look out for my telegram. Bring your decoder ring.)

Please pop a squat with me beneath a pavilion on a (hopefully) pleasant autumn day, plunging plastic ware into a plethora of piquant pies.

Please present one (1) pie for passage; a paltry price to pay for a party pinioned by prestigious proclivity.

Pursuing pies of all persuasions! Palatable produce, pungent pasty, puzzling pot pies.

Leave all picky palates at the plantation and come get your piper pied!
———————
In other words: let’s eat the crap out of some pies.

Last year my mom was supposed to  make her amazing butterscotch pie. It could anally rape you and you wouldn’t even notice it, it is THAT good. But she didn’t make it, and considering that we haven’t spoken since last Christmas, I’m not banking on a special delivery of gooey butterscotch in a pan this year either. So I might be cajoled into baking the only pie I’ve ever baked in my life (not including the raw pumpkin pie that left my ex-boyfriend with a persnickety duodenum): a succulent pear pie.

If you would like to attend, please let me know! Even if we’ve never met before, what better way to say hello and swap saliva than with chunks of cherry pie falling from our mouths like the remnants of that Civil War reenactor we cannibalized last Arbor Day?

1 comment

It didn’t seem like the Pie Party was going to be very successful. We didn’t get to the pavilion with enough time to decorate properly, not to mention Henry rented the largest pavilion and then only bought THREE tablecloths. He also forgot to bring the votive holders for all the pumpkin candles we bought, so he had to run to a nearby craft store to rectify that.

He left me with Chooch, who was being antagonized to death by Blake and his hyper-annoying friend Artie, who was actually pretty entertaining but I would never let him know that. Besides, he made fun of the Cure, so we have big beef now.

Chooch literally did nothing but cry hysterically the entire 30 minutes Henry was gone. The tablecloths I did have kept getting blown off by strong autumnal gusts.  My head was starting to hurt from all the screaming and crying between Chooch and the two teenage boys who should have been smoking a joint in the woods, not torturing a FOUR YEAR OLD. It was 80 degrees and I was sweating. I kept praying for Jessy to get there because she has a very calming effect on me, but she ended up getting held up with work stuff and was two hours late.  I kind of just stood around in the middle of the pavilion, which had a very distinct non-party feel, and panicked.

Then I had one of my signature “WHY DID I THINK THIS WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA?!” break-downs and considered suffocating myself in Henry’s avocado pie.

And of course, the first guests arrived just in time to see that there was no party. (Surprise! YOU’RE the pie! Boys, go get Mama her hatchet.)

And of course, it would happen to be my friend Shannon whom I hadn’t seen since senior year of high school.

I rushed out to the parking lot to meet her and her friend Bill and before I even said hello, I blurted out, “We are woefully unprepared!” They admitted that they weren’t even sure they had the right place since absolutely nothing was going on inside the pavilion aside from one sad girl, standing around confused and dejected. What a great impression I gave them of my party planning prowess.

Henry finally came back with ice and tablecloths but STILL forgot the votive holders. I was all riled up about that for a few seconds until I saw that he bought a few bottles of wine while I was stranded in Hell’s Playground. I was OK after that. And then more people started arriving in clumps and I was sort of shocked. Because generally, in my party planning experiences, people SAY that they’re going to come and then they don’t come. But that’s good, because it only makes it extra-special when guests DO come.

And everyone brought a pie.

In addition to Shannon, two other people I haven’t seen since high school came: John and his wife Jennifer (who also loves the Cure) came with two pies and their three adorable kids, and Ron came with his friend Chrissy¹. The last time I saw Ron, I was 18 and trudging through my one and only shift at a local restaurant, where he was dining with his brother.  He probably doesn’t even remember that, but I do because my memory is ridiculous. (Just not when I need it to be, like Saturday night when my friend Jen/Bonecrusher² and I were at Haunted Hills Estate and I made our team lose a challenge because I was SO SURE my memory was right when we had to put pictures in the correct order.)

Pie Party people, in a pie procession

When my friend Lisa arrived with her husband Matt, I rushed their car and squealed, “I had a party and people came!” With Lisa there, it was like a mini-high school reunion. I was happy that my lame idea for a party had turned into a very Rockwell-esque scene of people coming together.

So there was the Thomas Jefferson High School table, and then there was The Law Firm table. Usually, I can never get people from any of my jobs to come to my parties. Probably because their pimps won’t give them time off. But apparently my current co-workers are awesome and didn’t think I was lame for inviting them to a pie party. They didn’t even act suspicious like some of my friends did! Kaitlin couldn’t make it and we were all very sad, not because we like her, but because she was going to attempt to make a pie constructed of an array of her famous French macarons in pie flavors. No, seriously – orgasmic baked goods or not, we all love Kaitlin and it sucked that she couldn’t be there to sit at the cool work table with Barb, Wendy and her husband Shawn, Sandy, and Jeannie. And best of all, me. That’s OK, because someone suggested having a cupcake party next, and you better believe I will sit down with Kaitlin and her calendar before setting a date for that one.

Jeannie’s name tag was a direct reflection of her sparkling attitude!

My Grandma Lois and Aunt Charmaine came with a pie, as well as Moon Dough, which was the sleeper hit of the day. I’m pretty sure every pie party attendee inadvertently took some of it home with them.

Gina³ and Amber (whose name I temporarily forgot because I had been DRINKING and she wouldn’t let me live it down for the rest of the day, and probably not ever, assuming she would even hang out with me again after I committed such a faux pas!) hung out at the kids table with Chooch, churning out Moon Doughed puppies and milk bones. Gina adoringly called it the Moon Dough puppy mill and now I know what to get her for Christmas.

Amber said her favorite part of the pie party was during the first hour, when Chooch (still being bullied by TEENAGERS) sat under a picnic table and cried, “I HATE THIS PARTY!” But then he caught wind of the fact that John’s little girl was there dressed like a princess and you could almost see his mind thinking, “Who’s this hottie?” and he was pretty much at her side the rest of the afternoon.

I might have also plied Gina with pie in an effort to convince her to go to a haunted house with me. I think I have her worn down. I can be quite needling.

“Who wants pie when there’s Moon Dough to ingest?” Harland thinks, willing Kara to bring him closer.

Somehow, with the multitudes of pies that filled nearly the whole length of two pushed-together picnic tables, there was not one duplicate. I’m going to try and remember every type of pie that was there that day. Because I know the five people reading this absolutely lurched forward in anticipation.

Coconut cream – Henry’s mom, and Kelly and her brood

Pumpkin – Shannon and Bill (This was the first pie to be devoured.)

Pumpkin mousse – Gina and Amber (Somehow there was a tiny bit leftover and Blake was prepared to shank a bitch for it.)

Blackberry – Wendy and Shawn

Apple – John and Jennifer (OMG it was the best apple pie I’ve ever had & I’m still talking about it with Henry, because that’s what fat girls do – talk about pie. 24:7. Sometimes I even draw pie doodles on my desk at work.)

Hershey chocolate pie – Chooch’s girlfriend, Abby (Huge hit with the kids!)

Cream and Sugar – Henry

Avocado with citrus whipped cream – Henry (It turned into pudding; good job, Martin Stewart.)

Strawberry Rhubarb – Lisa and Matt (she made it herself and it was amazing!)

Banana Cream – Jessy, and I will not give Tommy credit (This is one of my all-time faves so she scored points.)

Lemon – Charmaine and Grandma Lois (I didn’t get to have any, but everyone kept raving about it.  I lose.)

Pecan – Barb

Some delicious fruit mixture – Jeannie (She said it was just blueberry, but I’m pretty sure she’s wrong. She’s wrong about a LOT of things. I know this because she likes the FLYERS.)

Red raspberry – Kara

Pomegranate mousse (pictured above) – Ron (It was amazing and exciting! Clearly, I like weird pie flavors.)

Pie tastes best when wearing a cape. Everyone knows that.

Lisa brought her dog, Tucker. We ate him, too.

Matt serves himself pie while talking on the phone. He must be a professional of some sort.

The real winner here was Blake, who walked away with a stack of pie plates stacked so high, it looked like he walked out of a cartoon.

“My mom doesn’t feed me,” was his defense.

And of course, in spite of Henry rushing out to purchase extra tablecloths, everyone chose to sit at the bare picnic tables.

It was a great day, filled with delicious pies, great weather and awesome people. Since it wasn’t a failure, let’s do it again! Say, next weekend?

---

¹Henry’s mom knew her. Henry’s mom knows EVERYONE. It’s kind of disgusting. I can only hope to grow up and be half as popular as her.

² I prefer calling Jen by her roller derby name because it’s more fun. Also because it’s the first name I knew her by. Also, I didn’t know how to spell her name until I saw her write it out on our challenge card. I win at friendships.

³Gina is the result of my lame blog helping me make new friends. She lives in the same little town as me, and this was the third time we hung out. But it was the FIRST time we hung out in a non-creepy environment so I think we’re making headway on our blossoming friendship. Though, Henry was there, in the pavilion. So never mind. Still a creepy environment.

12 comments

If this looks more like something you’d want to motorboat and less like something that’s sucker-punching your gag reflex, then read on.

I love pie. For years, I’ve wanted to have a pie party but usually complacency sets in and I put it on the backburner.

But then Henry made an avocado pie for my mom’s Labor Day cookout and it was smooth as silk, tangy, rich and to be honest, I just closed my eyes and smiled while thinking about it. He even made a citrus-tinged whipped cream which he plans to slather on the next avocado pie he makes.

Which hopefully will be on October 10, 2010 for my first annual to nothing PIE PARTY.

It’s going to be held at a pavilion in South Park, and the invitation is open to any local person reading this who has a propensity for pies (or anyone who likes pies enough to travel to Pittsburgh!). I’m trying to convince Henry that we really need to pay extra to be able to have alcohol at the park because I can’t imagine spending an autumn day outside, eating pie, with NO MULLED WINE to wash it down.

Actually, I’ve never had mulled wine, but Alisha always talks about it like it’s her own invention, and has subconsciously convinced me that I must have a big steaming vat of this. I think she should make it in a cauldron. Alisha – we will discuss this soon. Look out for my telegram. Bring your decoder ring.

If we’re not friends on Facebook, here is the official event notice:

A Pretentiously Perplexing Pie Party

Sunday, October 10, 2010

2:00PM – 6:00PM

A Pavilion in South Park, TBD

Please pop a squat with me beneath a pavilion on a (hopefully) pleasant autumn day, plunging plastic ware into a plethora of piquant pies.

Please present one (1) pie for passage; a paltry price to pay for a party pinioned by prestigious proclivity.

Pursuing pies of all persuasions! Palatable produce, pungent pasty, puzzling pot pies.

Leave all picky palates at the plantation and come get your piper pied!
———————
In other words: let’s eat the crap out of some pies.

I’m having my mom make her amazing butterscotch pie, you guys. It could anally rape you and you wouldn’t even notice it, it is THAT good.

And I might be cajoled into baking the only pie I’ve ever baked in my life (not including the raw pumpkin pie that left my ex-boyfriend with a persnickety duodenum): a succulent pear pie.

If you would like to attend, please let me know! Even if we’ve never met before, what better way to say hello and swap saliva than with chunks of cherry pie falling from our mouths like the remnants of that Civil War reenactor we cannibalized last Arbor Day?

23 comments