1.27.2015

I guess brainy dudes aren't her type

Soooooo, how was everyone's Burns Night this year? I know. I forgot to send you a slightly misspelled text about it on Sunday. It appears that removing the excessive scotch intake from Burns Night DRASTICALLY reduces my compulsion to spread the good word, which is a shame, because shortbread is delicious and poetry is fun and Mr. Guy still looks very foxy in the above link.

I did try to whip up some cock-a-leekie soup again, but I was sort of tired and screwed up one of the steps and had to remove the…leekies. So I added potatoes, as you do.



Honestly, cock-a-tattie soup sounds approximately as good as cock-a-leekie.


I have a decent excuse for my sloppy soup-making, though--I had gotten up early that morning and spent two and a half hours moving quite slowly, as evidenced by this nice piece of neckwear and what are clearly victory tacos:



You know what they say, "The slower the victory, the sweeter the tacos."

Obviously with all that actual activity going on I had neither the time nor the energy to pit Martha against Bon App├ętit this weekend, so instead I will stage a different battle, and it leave it to you to determine which of my children was the most distressing.

Contender #1: IVY. Distressing behavior: using my phone to play a game wherein you photograph yourself of your sister or your stuffed penguin or your poor unsuspecting and long-suffering mother and then do weird things to your/her/its/my face and hair; leaving the evidence of said game scattered throughout my photos.



















Contender #2: ANNA. Distressing behavior: announcing, ardently and repeatedly, that she would like to go on a date with this headless mannequin:



Please, please note the fact that she is HOLDING ITS HAND.


Oh, wait, before you decide: did I mention that sometimes the frankenpictures wink at you?




You may, of course, draw your own conclusions, but I say Ivy takes it by a (creepy Groucho-Marx) nose.