beautiful monsters

Ouch. What was I thinking?

Don’t you hate it when you have to get up and it’s still dark and you really haven’t had time to sober up yet? And there’s no food in the house, so you think, damn, I should’ve taken up the offer of crashing at the party, and then I could’ve had cake and tiramisu for breakfast. Never underestimate the goodness of leftover dessert for breakfast. Not that there was much leftover (but I had nothing to do with that because I was allergic to 99% of the ingredients).

Hey, it was almost a blogapapartywhatsit. In that there were at least four bloggers there. Possibly more, but if so they weren’t wearing their domain name plastered across their chest like I was. It was also the first party where, instead of the usual “so, who do you know here” question, someone opened with, “so, do you do this blogging thing?” But on the other hand, most people opened with the standard, pre-internet lines, and when they asked “so how do you know Giles?” and I answered “oh, I met him on the internet,” most of them looked really surprised. Which made me feel kinda old. “What, you haven’t been MSNing since you were in kindergarten? You didn’t meet your first girlfriend on the net? You don’t… oh, never mind.”

During the party Iona claimed that I am good at blogging about social events because “you actually remember stuff.” To which I can only reply, “Who could not remember the talking man breasts?” (And isn’t Iona the one who takes a notebook along so if anyone says anything interesting she can note it down and blog about it?)

Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I won’t be good at blogging about this particular social event. Largely because my memories of the evening are excessively cloudy. A distinctly sauvignon blanc shade of cloudy. But I do vividly remember reaching the bottom of two bottles - luckily I didn’t start at the top of both of them (Hey Reb, you know that bottle you left behind, you weren’t coming back for it, eh? That was your wine, wasn’t it?) and then I vaguely recall begging Giles to open another one…

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, everything is very fuzzy, so don’t expect – Noooooo! Wait, it’s all coming back to me! Groan.

There was the guy from the soccer team. *Shudder.* Very friendly lot, the soccer team.

And I walked into a lot of conversations I didn’t understand. Either there were lots of people speaking German, or I was a lot drunker than I thought I was. But even when I found people speaking English I didn’t know what they were on about. Like “the problem with stealth bombers is that you can’t breed them. You put two stealth bombers in a garage together, and… low and behold… nothing happens!” I have no idea how this snippet of conversation fitted into the context of the evening, I can only testify that it occurred.

Phlogiston got hideously drunk. Again. And made a fool of himself. Again. Honestly, sometimes I worry about that tiger.

Giles lurked in the shadows, wielding a cigarette in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and a beard of ROGUE DEMON HUNTING sprouting from his face.

Carla managed to demonstrate that, after a couple of beers (British, not African) not only can she match my Slightly Tipsy Rapid Babble word for word (in fact I think I was stumbling a few times), but she can also dance Meringue better than I can. You’d think, after six months in Costa Rica, I’d have the hang of it.

I’m not even going to mention the boy who tagged along with us, because the last time I saw him he was saying something about “eleven inches and shoulders like a Buick,” which Iona seemed to take rather literally, “But Buicks don’t have shoulders.” I was still spluttering in the corner. Eleven inches? Cripes!

Towards the end of the evening the guy in the pink shirt walked into the kitchen, pointed at me and said “hey, you look just like this girl, Fiona, from Rotorua. She used to live in Windsor St.” I’m like, “yeah, when I was like seven or something!” How do these people remember? Anyway, once I managed to see him through the alcohol induced blur, he did look a lot like this guy who was a couple of years ahead of me in primary school.

Yeah, it was a good party. Pity about the morning after… one of the little dears found the box marked “musical instruments,” and we had a lively interpretation of Twinkle Twinkle from the two year olds on recorders, accompanied by the older boys with banging devices. Ouch. I really need some sleep. Right after I finish my folio. And go to my best friends 21st. And then it’s our end of course party… But I assure you, sleep will be a feature at some point during the next 48 hours…

Tip for the day – How to make a great party even better;
I recommend the tiramisu.

Beat five egg whites until stiff. Whip about a cup of cream until, well, you know, until it’s whipped. Mix together one packet of marscapone cheese (about 300g) with the egg yolks, half a cup of sugar, and a generous half a cup of white rum. Fold in the egg whites and cream.

Mix together a really strong cup of espresso with a cup or so of Kahlua (or Cafe Brit Liqueur if you can get your hands on it) and half a cup of sugar. Pour the mixture into a shallow tray.

Then take a glass bowl and spread a layer of the creamy mixture in the bottom. Open a packet of sponge finger biscuits, dip the biscuits in the coffee mixture and then arrange a layer of soaked biscuits in the bowl. Cover with another layer of cream and then another layer of biscuits. Repeat until you run out of mixture and/or bowl.

Sprinkle flakes of dark chocolate over the top and chill for a few hours.

Then… bliss.

NB: This recipe is really not suitable to anyone who is allergic to dairy, wheat, and trying not to eat eggs, sugar or caffeine. Oh and it's from memory, I haven’t made it for years. On account of the allergies…

Posted by Fionnaigh at June 29, 2003 02:05 PM