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Sunday, April 29, 2012

Birthday... bash?

So my birthday bash was pretty good. Not awesome like I'd hoped, but not lame either, which is always good. I took Friday off from work (I will regret this decision come Monday, since nobody else does my job but me), but I digress. Mary, a close friend of mine, goes to school in Tacoma and was off at 11:30. So, I pick her up then, and we hang out for a while. (Hanging out with me usually comprises of straight-up boredom followed by the line "what do you want to do?") We go to Safeway to get lunch, and I decide to make my own ice cream cake for my birthday (more on this later). I force her to watch a couple episodes of Good Eats (Beet It has the best beginning ever, and Salad Daze II: Long Arm of the Slaw is one of the funniest episodes), and we watch a movie. During all this, I am baking a chocolate box cake with nothing in it besides diet soda. I have also melted down some chocolate ice cream, added melted peanut butter, and am letting it re-freeze in a loaf pan. But, Mary is brimming over with energy and she wants to do something. In all of her suggestions (we can go to the zoo, walk on the beach, walk at the mall) "walk" was the key component. So I said "Walk? You want to walk? Let's go!" So, I got my exercise in for the day - my almost 3 mile round-trip walk down my street. Mary can't even keep up. What usually takes me 45 minutes took an hour lol.
So anyway, more on the cake. There was something wrong with the recipe as the cake was too damn fluffy to really work. It stuck to the bottom of the pan, and ended up being very pillow-y and couldn't hold together for nothing. (I think it has to do with 1. the lack of eggs and 2. the directions saying I had to beat the batter for two minutes. Because I used diet soda instead of eggs and oil, I probably didn't need to do that. It incorporated a lot of air into a batter that would already be light thanks to the carbonation in the soda.) ANYWAY. So, my cake is in crumbles. I press it into the loaf pan anyway, and then flip the whole thing over onto a plate. I decided that there wasn't enough cake, so I add more cake crumbles to the top of my already pathetic looking chocolate-peanut butter ice cream. I had bought some chocolate chips to make a ganache, but didn't realize it took heavy cream. I only had half n half, so I tried that. AND, I added more melted peanut butter lol. I tried to let it cool, I really did. I'm an inpatient person. So, the ganache is still fairly warm (I actually feared that if it cooled completely that it would being to solidify), and I poor it on top of the cake. Ha. What was already pathetic has turned into a melting pool of patheticness. Oh, the ice cream was still there - it was just a bit melty. I shoved it back into the freezer (and was desperately wishing for a blast chiller at this point) and let it refreeze.
Okay. I'm way off on a tangent here so let me skip forward. Before we head off to Chopstix to spend the evening with Justin, Mary, and Monica (and my parents for a little while) we stop by the bowling alley where my parents are currently bowling league. Justin and Mary suggest a game of pool so I join them. Monica is going to meet us down at Chopstix since she lives close by. After pool, we find a place to park (difficult even at 7:30) and head into the bar. Monica meets us there and we talk before the dueling pianos start at 8:30.
Doin good, we're having fun. Justin, who is supposed to be the designated driver, has already ordered 2 Coronas with lime. But fine, whatever. He's a big guy, he won't get drunk off of a few Coronas. They played one of my favorite songs by Journey (Any Way You Want It) thanks to Mary's request slip that says "It's Amy's Birthday" on it lol. But then, I see Justin ordering another drink - a mixed drink that you know, has hard A in it. I'm not very impressed. I try to take it away from him (unfortunately, I can't down it - it doesn't taste that great) but Justin steals it back. I am getting pissed. (If you knew the history of his alcohol problem and how it has affected our marriage, you might understand more). My parents show up, but they're sitting at the other end of the table. Not wanting to leave them alone (they are not in their element here) I join them at the other side. They're having fun, and I'm glad. I knew they would like it here because the dueling piano guys do a lot of rockin' oldies.
Justin orders yet another drink, but he's turned away from me and I take the opportunity to take it from him. I'm really pissed now. He can't steal it back this time. He turns, sees the drink gone, and mouths "bitch" to me. My parents don't even see it cuz they're all on the same side of the table. About 20 minutes later, Justin gets up and walks away. Okay, I figure he's using the bathroom. But, when he doesn't come back... Dad checks the bathroom he's not there. I text him and he says he left. Everyone is all wide-eyed at me. Really? Did my husband just walk out and not even bother to tell me? He tells me he's walking home. Okay, that's about 5 miles at least. Mom and I check to make sure he didn't take the car. It was still there. I decide, you know what? He wants to be a baby and walk out cuz he can't get drunk off his ass? Then fine, that's his problem. He's not going to ruin my night. My parents leave a short time later. They are not very impressed either. And luckily for me, even though I've had 3 drinks (two of them being of the AMF/Black Opal variety) I am still fairly sober. I can walk in a straight line, and I'm not dizzy or anything when I stand. I'm fine. I could probably pass a sobriety test, so I drive. I know, it's not wise, but what the hell else am I supposed to do? Neither Monica or Mary have a car. So, at about 11 or 11:30, I drive us back to my place. We don't see Justin at all. So, we spend a couple hours chatting, and then I drive Monica home. Mary lives across the bridge and I'm too tired, so she crashes on my couch. Justin comes home probably 10 minutes after I go to bed.
Hurray for birthdays.

PS - the next morning, we have pathetic ice cream cake for breakfast.


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