We've talked about stars. We've talked about fashion. Hell, we've talked about literature. Now it's time to bring in the food.
I braved the two feet to thirty inches (can't be bothered to find out actual measurements, although I encountered snow that didn't even reach my knee and I encountered snow -- that wasn't in a mound, mind you, that was well past waist-level) and made my first trip to the grocery store this month. My, my, my.
I'll be the first to admit that I can't cook. Bake, yes, cook, no. But I've been swept up by this sudden urge to make dishes I'm not sure even exist. I've had these crazy cravings at all times in the night -- bowtie pasta with alfredo sauce and peas and shrimp!? Mexican. Anything and everything.
I stood before the pasta aisle and found bowties for 99c. I could not find canned alfredo sauce, but saw it in the fridge aisle. Too bad my meal plan kicks up again in a week. One of these days I'm going to cook myself a delish bowl of pasta.
In the meanwhile, I got myself some snacks: three Macintosh apples, two bags of Snyder's Butter Snaps pretzels (the best hard pretzels I've ever had, right alongside Rold Gold's honey mustard / cheddar cheese ones ... summer of eighth grade, that's ALL we ate, remember C?), and a tin of International Coffees in Hazelnut Belgian Cafe (I think this was the one Catherine warned me of). The coffee tasted nasty at first, but the trick is to add a teaspoon of sugar. I promise.
Oh shiz! I just missed the first forty minutes of Everwood. I'm out.
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