This post is going to make me look bad, so before I get into it I would like to brag about my Thanksgiving triumph, just to even things out. I don’t know if you guys know this about me but I make really good caramel. (Care-a-mell? Or Car-mull? I say “car-mull”, not because I feel strongly that it’s correct, but because it’s fewer syllables. And I’m lazy.) I mean, REALLY good. Not like I’m trying to toot my own horn or anything but…what’s that? Oh yeah, *beep*beep*! It’s slap-your-mama-smoke-a-cigarette-to-calm-you-down good. Not that you should slap your mama OR smoke a cigarette, because both would be bad. I’m just saying this stuff makes a person do cRaZy things, so you have to be careful.
Anyway, I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do for the name tags to label the place settings at my Thanksgiving table and decided that I would make (make!) chocolate caramel apples with toasted almonds, using my homemade caramel recipe. So I did. I dipped granny smith apples in the homemade caramel, let it set, then dipped it in milk chocolate, and coated the bottom with chopped, toasted almonds before settling it onto wax paper. The next day I gathered each apple into a cellophane bag, tied it with a ribbon, and attached a name tag to the top to mark each guest’s spot. This is probably the point where I should grace you with a picture but, remember? LAZY. Unless I’m making homemade caramel, then I can be quite stellar.
Okay, so we’re all clear on the fact that I CAN be impressive when I really want to be, right? Excellent. Now for my confession.
Remember a few weeks ago when Samantha ended up in the hospital and I couldn’t sleep so I watched Friday Night Lights on my iPhone? Well, see, what I didn’t tell you is that I hadn’t ever watched this show before, so I started with season 1, episode 1. It was brain candy, which was exactly what the doctor ordered. (Well, technically the doctor ordered morphine, but I was noticeably absent on that recipient list. Trust me, I asked.) But then I wanted (needed) to see episode 2, and since I still wasn’t sleeping I went ahead and hit “Play”. Then Samantha came home and Cory left for China and I was all alone day and night for 9 days, leaving a ripe environment for the over consumption of predictable television where The Breakfast Club meets a football field and a modern day Ward & June Cleaver take over Dillon, Texas.
That, my friends, was the point of no return. It’s been 3 weeks and I’m on episode 58. Do you know how much television that is?! Let me tell you, it’s enough television to make a girl who is still on the couch in her underwear at 11:00 am ask the tough questions like, will Landry be convicted of murder for saving Tyra from her rapist? Can Coach Taylor lead the Panthers to a State Championship? Is poor Tim Riggins going to put down the bottle in favor of a better life? Will Jason Street ever walk again? Is Lyla ever going to be able to hang her head in disappointment without having a perfect strand of bangs fall across her face? Like I said, the tough questions.
I’ve watched it in the car.
I’ve watched it in bed.
I’ve watched it at the kitchen table.
On the couch.
In the (seriously) bathroom.
I would watch it on a boat with a goat or in a house with a mouse.
Here or there.
It’s shameful. I’m not proud of it, but I still have to finish seasons 4 and 5 so I’m not out of the woods yet.
But I make really good caramel.