Problem Solved!

So…only three more sleeps til the BIG POT LUCK EVENT…and I thought next week was hell week! Dear Gawd I had not counted on the outside pressure put upon me about this thing. Here I thought I could just quietly drive myself insane…privately…but oh no…everyone’s jumpin’ on the band wagon. Not that driving me insane is much of a trip, some might argue I have already arrived.
Anyway, I digress…it’s all about the pot luck ain’t it.
Everyday I’ve worked this week…pre- Hell Week week….when there are a million things to be done, barcodes to be found, fabric to be measured and wrapped, signs to be made, a billion pounds of something to me moved somewhere…everybody seems oddly focused on what I am bringing to Pot Luck.
Or is it just me?
Could I be alittle over sensitive about the subject?
I am sure there is no way they could know about that sick feeling I get in my stomach every time they ask what I’m bringing.

I am trying to believe this is just pot luck culture…you know…so and so wanting to know if your dish blends with their dish…and whether there will be a nice mixture on the table….but then again because they are mostly all aware of my….let’s say…short comings…in the kitchen…I feel like they are….taunting me…or lookin’ for a heads up as to which dish to NOT eat that night.
And then Miss J asked point blank(the very SAME Miss J who stole…..right out from under me…Alfie’s brilliant ice cream cake idea…so she wouldn’t have to cook…cough cough.. bitch!.. cough ) …she’s makin a list…time to commit to something.
Commit to something?
What?
Suicide?

I am wracking my brain for an answer while listening to everyone else rhyme off the fancy things they are bringing…half of which, I must admit, I don’t even know if they are real food.
All I could think of is black and crispy
Something black and crispy.
Is that committed enough?
Is someone else bringing that?
Can we move on now?
Can everyone STOP asking me if I know about M&M’s? (And just for the record here…I most certainly do know about M&M’s…and like I said….I DON’T CARE FOR THE PEANUT ONES!) How does that help me cook? If I eat enough…does it make me cook better…or just too sick to attend…which, I guess would indeed solve my little problem and theirs too!

I am a princess…a perfect princess…I should be worrying about which gown to wear to the ball….not this cooking shit.
Ya want to know the truth. I’ve decided.
I am not cooking anything.
I’m bringing in a chef…two actually…from a far away kingdom…cuz I AM a Princess…and Princesses have People. I am bringing in the cooking People.
And they will make whatever I ask (beg) them too…and it won’t be black and crispy. And I won’t have to hurt myself trying to make the stove turn on, nor take a chance on the shaky…yet to be proven skills of a local chef who’s come forward (and frankly…just may suck as bad as me), or be worried my dish will stand out for all the wrong reasons.
I got this one beat!

PROBLEM SOLVED!!!
Now if I could just find someone to shine up my glass slippers…

I’d be laughin’

Wanted: One Chef...Some Cooking Knowledge Required.

We are but 12 days away from Hell Week.
And what is Hell Week you ask?
Why it is the annual Tent Sale at JHS. That’s all.
And I guess I should really qualify Hell.
Hot, Energy-zapping, Labourious, Long...there you have it….HELL!
It’s an event that is long anticipated by our clients, they come out in droves, and we are very pleased to have them. It is also an event that requires a shit load of preparation on our parts, which I have to say we are getting better and better at each year, but no matter the organization...it takes tremendous physical labor to have it put together and running smoothly.
And did I mention...set up always occurs on the hottest day of the year?
Yep it does.
We’re a soaking-wet, sticky, dusty dirty pile of smelly SOB’s by the end of that day.
And way too tired to care.

Then the fun begins. We work our asses off non stop for the next 6 days trying to meet the needs of a thousand people, all at the same time, while smiling broadly and wishing silently that God would turn down the heat...just alittle, so you would no longer feel the need to puke or pass out. It’s all good!
But you know what’s really got me shakin’ in my boots about this coming Tent Sale?
The Staff Pot Luck Dinner.
You read right...I did say the Staff POT LUCK Dinner.
That means I have to cook something.
I have 11 days to figure out what I can possibly cook that won’t kill or maim anyone...or burn my house to the ground in the process.
Dear. Gawd. I. Can’t. Do. It.
This has already been keeping me awake at night. I read the cook books...lay there and envision myself going thru the recipe... step by friggin’ step, carefully checking the dictionary for all the word I don’t understand...like boil and sauté ... and just when I start to get hopeful that YES...THIS ONE I CAN DO….
I see the same Firemen in the same Haz-Mat suits breakin’ down the front door.
And I can’t even tell where it all went wrong. Til it’s too late.
I don’t get invited to many pot lucks.
I don’t take it personally. I wouldn’t invite me either.
And I do get it when I am invited...and then they eagerly suggest I be the one who brings the bottled water.
I get it...and it’s okay.
I don’t want to cheat and buy something ( and I know yer all prayin I do). I always feel like the other guest will think I am too lazy to put in the work they did on their wonderful contributions….that they whipped up...JUST LIKE THAT!
Just like friggin’ that!
Right.
I thought you could whip up Pasta Salad….just like that. No one bothered to tell me you had to cook the damn pasta before you put it in the salad. Who the hell knows things like that!
Not me!

There’s gonna be people there who don’t know me...like bigwigs and stuff, who’ve traveled a fair distance for a fine meal…and they won’t know not to eat what Nad brought. Can I hope that someone will spread the word to them before I make a lasting impression of the very worst kind?
Is saying sorry really enough?
What if I like held their hair out of the way while they puked...is that enough?
What?
Is it still cheating if you like...hire someone to do your cooking? Like say you found a (really nice looking) really competent chef who agreed to come to yer house and like do the little cooking part and you your very own self, personally put it on the serving thingie and wrapped it...can you legally say you made it yourself? Could that work?
I know I couldn’t let him make it taste too good...cuz that would be a dead give away...and honestly, I have no grandiose dreams of ever being a serious contender in the Pot Luck world ...I just want to ‘show up’ as it were….and get thru one entire evening without having to hear “What the hell is That!” fifteen times.
That’s all.
I definitely need to find a solution to this before the stress of it all kills me.
And time is running out...only 11 days.
11 little days.
I need a miracle.
And a chef.
And a pot...I guess?

There's Gotta Be A Help Line?

Hi, my name is Nad
And I’m a Cotton Ginny-aholic.
I need an intervention.
There….I said it.
I have no where left to hang them. I can’t shut the dresser drawers, and there are no hangers left...in the whole entire house.
And still I buy more.
Did I really need to have 15 new pairs of ankle socks?
Ah…. yes! I must….and really...if you could see the pretty colours ...you would agree a girls’ gotta have those!
So...they don’t really count….right?
Same with the bras. I needed one...somehow 5 of them ...just got in my bag???? Those ARE necessities tho….with my large breasts, can’t have those puppies swingin’ around and hurtin’ someone!

And besides...they weren’t from Cotton Ginny.
So...goes without sayin’...those don’t count. Right?
And shoes...they fall into that ‘don’t count’ area too. Gotta have shoes...most malls won’t even let you in if you’re not wearin’ shoes for Gawd sakes.
And I only bought one pair...really! Okay okay...so I bought slightly more than one pair...just s-l-i-g-h-t-l-y more... sheeesh!
And I only went to Cotton Ginny this weekend again cuz I had to exchange a pair of pants my Enabler bought me. I would never EVER have thought to go there on my own ...even if that skirt I left behind last week ...haunted me ...I was workin’ it out of my system...til the little pants exchange HAD to happen.
So it isn’t my fault I went there, and exchanged the pants, and bought two more skirts and three more shirts. Shhh Shhh Shhh!!!
I know I didn’t need them.
I couldn’t help myself. I’m addicted remember.
A Cotton Ginny whore.
And the fact that I brought them home and hid them amongst the already too many clothes I have bought for summer...proves it.
And we’re not gonna talk about the bike clothes or blue jeans
I need to stop.
No I don’t need at least two shirts for every pair of pants or vice versa.
No I don’t need to buy the same skirt in every colour it came in.
No I don’t need to buy one of every style of capris they have in the store.
And no...I do not need more then the 17 blazer type jackets I already have crammed in there! No. No. No!
If you are a friend...or a loved one…..it’s time for some tough love!
If I ask you to take me to the mall...say no!
If I ask you to pick something up for me...say no!
If I complain I have nothing to wear… hit me...hard!
If I tell you I am going to the mall ...but I will not go in Cotton Ginny….I’m lyin’
If I tell you I am just going to pick up a birthday gift for so and so...again...lyin’
If I suggest it as a must see attraction and offer myself up as tour guide...call the nearest addiction center and have me committed.
And frankly, the stress of having to find a spot for all I have bought is beginning to wear me down. I am thinking I need to refocus and find better things to spend all that money on…
Like booze and illicit drugs.