Bloodshed and Cheddar BallsI know, I know.  I’m behind on blogs.  Pipe down.  Doesn’t absence make the heart grow fonder?  Actually, I don’t think that’s true.  In the case of my roommate, freshman year of college, absence didn’t make the heart grow fonder with her boyfriend, but it did make her grow genital warts.  True story.

I realize that it’s almost February and I’m writing a post about Thanksgiving, but doesn’t everyone love the holidays, no matter what time of year?  And Thanksgiving is the best holiday of all because it celebrates food, and freedom, and comradery, and killing Indians with cholera.

Well, maybe we don’t so much celebrate that last part, but it’s worth noting and shaming ourselves for…which is personally why I drink on that holiday.  I guess that means I’m a good American.

I really do have a lot of stories to tell you from when I was gone from the blog, but there’s only so much I can tell at once.   So bear with me, as some of these stories may not be timely. (Much like my college roommate’s “special visitor” one particular month which led to a pregnancy scare.  Another true story.)

But don’t get mad about it.  I’ve been backed up!  I feel like since I just had my gallbladder removed, I should make a joke about poo, but I won’t.  I’m better than that…and I also can’t think of anything clever to do with that joke.

On to Thanksgiving and the story.  This year we went to my brother’s wife’s parents’ house for Thanksgiving.  Isn’t that where most people go for the holidays?  I would like to think it’s because my brother’s wife’s parents think we are awesome and want to spend the holidays with me and Matt, but somehow I think pity plays a big role in our invitation.  Whatever, they had good wine.

As soon as we arrived, we felt like ass-hats because we didn’t make anything.  Don’t get me wrong, we brought something.  (We aren’t horrible people!)  That something just didn’t happen to be ours.  Rather, we snagged a bag of pies from my parents as they were loading the car.  We didn’t want to look like ass-hats…but we were fine being them.  (Side note:  “Bag of Pies” would make a great band name.)

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Since I have an amazing moral compass, I knew I needed to pull my weight, so I immediately began helping in the kitchen.  This may have been partly because I wanted to help, and partly because I wanted to make the cheese balls. I wanted to ensure I would have complete control over how much cheese was used for said balls. (Hee hee…balls…)

The recipe called for finely chopped nuts.  (I know, these balls and nuts jokes are getting to be too easy….much like my college roommate.)  Once I realized the “fine” description in the recipe wasn’t telling me that I needed to do a good job, I looked around for a food processor.  But for the record, had I chopped the nuts myself, I would have done a fine job.  Just FYI.

The processor was packed neatly in a box, instead of thrown in a random cabinet like it is at my house.  I immediately began trying to put the food processor together.  I wanted to earn my keep, and I was also seriously craving cheddar.

My brother’s mother in law, Hallmark (not her real name), and I decided to tackle this project together, because two heads are better than one, but also because she is a fan of the cheddar balls too.  (I’m resisting yet another ball joke.  I’m so mature.)

Unfortunately, Hallmark and I together may actually have been collectively more clueless than we were separately when it came to putting together the food processor.  Fortunately, we are both adorable and amazingly awesome, so it made up for our inability to follow written directions.  Since I was the guest, and wanted to show it wasn’t a complete mistake allowing us to crash Thanksgiving, I took the processor by the blade and took action.  Sadly, the blade retaliated against me by taking a chunk off the tip of my finger.  He was clearly not in the holiday spirit.

Immediately blood began gushing out of my finger, and dripped all over the nuts.  (Seriously, people.  Get your dirty minds out of the gutter.  I’m referring to the peanuts.)  I looked around helplessly and locked eyes with the one person I didn’t want to know about my mishap; my husband.  His reaction was exactly what I expected from him, although I can’t say it was out of line.

He shook his head as said in an exasperated tone, “Two minutes, babe.  You’ve been here two minutes.”

I want to say that he was exaggerating on the time.  I want to say that so badly.  But I can’t, because he was right, and I’m also fairly certain he rounded up.  At that point, the blood was gushing everywhere and judging by the look in his eye, I knew Matt wouldn’t be the first to volunteer blood for my inevitable transfusion.  Fortunately, Hallmark came to my rescue and helped me bandage my wound.  (Didn’t I tell you she was awesome?)

Matt gently sat me down on the couch and said we should “just sit here for a while.” Again, I wanted to be irritated with him, but I figured it would be more efficient to only drip blood on one spot of the carpet instead of all over the house.  I was a considerate house guest.

We waited for dinner to be served, all the while ensuring my finger remained over my head to stop the bleeding.  Finally, the food was ready and we proceeded to the dining room to eat.  I hoped the cheese balls were amazing, and fortunately, they were.  But then again, of course they were.  They had a little piece of me in every bite.

I’m also confident we will not be invited back next year, so Matt and I are now accepting invitations for Thanksgiving!

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