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Many thanks, Andrew, for fixing my problem. You rock my world!
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Yesterday, Chris and I went to Steve and Erica�s house for Christmas. We�ve been attempting to celebrate together since December 20, but somehow their presents ended up being the last ones under the tree (which, true to Grim�s assessment, is coming down this week since we�ve passed Little Christmas). Oh well�it�s nice to spread the celebrations out.
Erica made us dinner, then we played Cranium, Chris and Erica vs. Steve and me. We beat them soundly. Well, at least, we won. It�s a fun game, even if you can only buy it at Starbucks.
One of the category cards is called "Sculpturades" and involves creating a model out of the "Cranium Clay"� and getting your teammates to guess at what you�ve made. Cranium Clay is scary stuff. Steve pointed out that the directions say "DO NOT EAT" and do not anywhere say that this stuff is non-toxic. Which, in our estimation, obviously means it must be toxic. The purple color and the noxious smell doesn�t do anything to change that belief, either. I tried not to touch it.
Actually, it was a weekend full of continued Christmas celebration. My mom and stepdad came in to the city and joined the Boyfriend and me for dinner Saturday night in honor of the Feast of Epiphany. For reasons which escape me now, I thought it would be a good time to try cooking with phyllo dough for the first time. What a pain in the ass that stuff is. I wasted about four sheets of it before I got a grasp on how to handle it without it totally falling apart. The Boyfriend sat and watched and laughed at me a little. I finally got the main course assembled�"gift wrapped chicken", and they actually ended up looking like they were supposed to, which was a surprise as much as it was a relief. I should post the recipe. Once you get past the phyllo part, it�s very easy.
David (my stepdad) gave us all matching sweatshirts as Little Christmas gifts. Now he, my mom, the Boyfriend and I can dress alike. Not sure what would make us want to, but we have the ability, should the mood strike us.
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I guess I have very little to say today.
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C�mon, Meg, are we playing or not?
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