I have a new drug

It is Facebook. Find me. Friend me. Sadly or luckily, I cannot decide which, my crummy old computer is nigh incapable of keeping up with the tech, so there are some features that I can't really access which I think will either serve to drive me to FB at work or take Ray's computer. Seriously.

So this weekend was the weekend of the big snow; still no photos because I don't have the cable for my camera, that would require going to my apartment and I am very happily ensconced in Chez Kahler. But it was so wild and wooly that the NYT did NOT MAKE IT TO TOWN (and I had a minor panic fit because this was ACROSTIC week and you know I love me some Emily Cox and Henry Rathvon) and Ray's church cancelled service! So we had a whole weekend without either of our liturgies. Even though we were totes prepared for them — I woke up and there was Ray, all sweaty, saying he had just shoveled out the driveway. Man, the dude is motivated.

So we had the day to make buttermilk fudge following Uncle Ed's recipe, which came with something on the order of 14 bulleted points. And we STILL managed to mess it up. Possibly it got too hot, according to Ed's genius diagnosis when I emailed him today. We will have to make another batch with a smaller pot so the thermometer does not get dropped in it because someone has to hold it, hovering, above the boiling sugar. It came out super sticky and with an oily sheen, like the butter separated a bit. It didn't stir so much as it clung together and resisted all attempts to get the pecans in.

So the fudge was not fudgey, it was still pliable-ish and incredibly sticky but we portioned it out with great difficulty (it got less tacky overnight somehow, but still not fudgey). I took it to the least-picky group of eaters I knew — the office. Sure enough, the tin had a mere three pieces left in it at quitting time. Thank you journalists.

The facebook thing is like a drug. I'm friending people I haven't seen in 15 years. I have to get Ray hooked up on it.

Ray just asked: "What do you want for dinner?"

Me: "Do you want me to be honest or tell you what you want to hear?"

Ray: (chuckling) "I want you to be honest."

Me: (small voice) "I want Frosted Mini-Wheats."

Ray: (silence punctuated by an eye roll)