I don’t ever use the abbreviated expletive OMG, but for the past hour my brain seems to be stuck on it. Really, nothing else applies.
OMG: it’s John Cusack’s birthday. And apparently he’s just right out there in Vancouver, scouting out locations for something or other, which makes me doubly regret our move back to Calgary. Although the distance is probably keeping me from becoming a stalker, or doing something stupid like bake him a cake and then scour the city in an attempt to deliver it, ultimately giving up and eating it myself on some street corner or beach before walking home, dejected.
That doesn’t sound too bad, actually. I’d love to be in Vancouver right now, eating cake.
Regarding dinner, there really wasn’t one tonight. We were fed very well this afternoon at K & J’s place (sangria, cheese platter, beggar’s purses filled with goat cheese and caviar, steak on the barbecue, roasted veg, Caesar salad, and fruit-marshmallow kabobs with FIVE KINDS of Ben & Jerry’s for dessert – was it perhaps my birthday?), and in an attempt to be a conscientious lunch guest I did not bring along my camera and document everything they prepared. But I did take a few snaps of our quickie breakfast this morning – stale bread dipped in egg, milk and vanilla and then cooked in the waffle iron; French toast and waffles all in one, without having to beat egg whites to make waffle batter. As usual I tossed a handful of blueberries into the maple syrup as it warmed in a small pot on the stove, so that the berries popped and turned the syrup a deep indigo. Who wants to pour cold syrup, straight from the fridge, onto warm pancakes, waffles or French toast anyway?
And if I had woken up beside John this morning, he would have had waffled French toast for breakfast. And Mike would have totally understood.