EAT THE FOOD!!!

I often am hungry as I rarely plan out my eating routine. What with work, the gime (gym for all you non Simpson’s watchers) music and drinking, I hardly have time to cook, bake or take out. HOWEVER.. when I am desperately hungry and my stomach can no longer take the empty feeling inside, I oblige with my favourite meal. Sandwiches.

When I was a kid, my mom had a record player. Yes. I’m THAT old.. Now, I remember distinctly one song in particular on my very favourite vinyl. It was “Sandwiches” by Fred Penner. You all remember him eh? Judging by your confused face about the term “eh” you are not Canadian, which you kinda need to be in order to know who Mr. Penner is.

LEGENDARY!

But that’s not the point. The real point is that I was discussing a drunken meal I made on my return home from Hess Village last weekend with my friend. I recently hopped back on the wagon of party-ville, and am doing well considering.  While at the bar, I think I drank my body weight in rye. And not of the bread variety, but we’ll get to that in a minute. I was totally that girl; stumbling home, drunk texting … someone … (probably more than one) and hobbled back to my apartment just in time to feel the pang of a guilty pleasure arise. Looking in my fridge, several things happened. One, I must get more fruit, and two, it seems that it was sandwich time. Now, eating before bed is not a normal tradition for me, however, this time, I made an exception as the bread and toppings seemed to be crying at me for love. I obligued.

Now, I’m not sure what it is about eating hammered, or eating other people’s food, but it always seems to taste better; and let me tell you: this sandwich was Ah-maze-ing. I can’t even described the dance my tastebuds made whilst the preperations occured. Maybe it was the jager… maybe it was the tangy zip of Miracle Whip, but let me tell you, the addition of cucumbers lightly seasoned with salt and pepper was the shize.

(Oh god, I’m salavating)

Here is my recipe for helping a hangover cease to be a hangover.

1. Use fresh, whole wheat bread, preferably of the organic variety. (Shmamberley does not soley support the brand “Arnolds” bread, although I’m sure he’s a very nice guy)

2. Spread a generous layer of Miracle Whip on both slices of said bread, toasted if desired, although this takes a lot more time and seems like EONS in a drunken stuper.

3. Add shaved turkey to the mix… I don’t eat much cow or pig these days, but if I trusted myself to cook some bacon, this would be a very different flava. (You heard me)

Turkey bad, Pork good apparently

4. Slice tomatos and cucumbers with a dull knife and place over turkey. Add salt and pepper to taste.

5. Grab a stick of cheese.. and not that processed crap. Get like, some amazing old chedda from the Farmers Market, but my top fav would be brie. Grate that bitch and let it make the mountain-sandwich rise.

6. Lettuce would be good, but I didn’t have any.

And there you have it! I highly suggest slicing it in half and just because you’re THAT special, why not skip the crust and go right to the good stuff? The middle.

Upon waking, I had no recolection of said sandwich. Not even a bit. I was tipped off by the mass amounts of crumbs on my bedspread and upon furthur investigation, my kitchen was a frackin’ mess. Turns out, I rather enjoyed that sandwich whilst watching the end of Aladdin on VHS.

I hope you like my recipe. Next one will be for disaster, as I’m rather partial to those and it makes for a much better journal entry. I shall leave you with the song that prompted my love for this meal. Thank you and enjoy.

‘Till Death Do Our Opinions Part

You are blonde. No offence.

You are pretty, up until that 5th shot.

You are really smart, but I can’t understand a word you’re saying.

You are drunk.

It’s summer. I can tell cause there be bitches pouring their hearts out on the patio and I can hear you from across the way. I don’t know what it is about nice weather, good music, close friends and specially made drinks that makes you so sad, but it makes me laugh, and I’m sorry.

The pain that you are enduring right before a packed audience will be embarassing tomorrow I dare say. I’m sure that on any other day that ends in y you would be different, but tonight, you are the scene.

And the stage is yours and set.

Let me guess. Your boyfriend was checking out another girl. At a bar. Holy crap, never would have thought. Are you so terribly insecure that you’ve forgotten to gauge out his eyes before exiting your parents den? Honestly, get over yourself. He’s probably just looking at what a professional drinker looks like. This, coupled with the fact that he made out with your best friend the other day stirs up what scientists call, “depression”.

Consider this: the depression is fueled by the downer of the alcohol, so it kinda makes you act like the girls bartenders often refer to as “a piece of work”. That’s right, there’s a heading.  You kind of make them sick as if everyone around you is in clear and present danger of losing a ligimant if anywhere near the “hot zone” when ignited.

Honestly though, it’s not all your fault. You can blame it on the rain, you can blame it on the stars that shine at night, or you can blame it on the drink. That’s not necessarily a bad idea, but I’ll tell you what is

GIVING YOUR CRYING GIRLFRIEND MORE BOOZE!

Come on lameoid! What the f*ck are you thinking? You kinda deserve being yelled at now cause that bartender’s only waiting for some more entertainment in the long evening ahead of them. So, if you’re gonna fuel the fire, pick something that won’t burn when she pukes it up. That means no jager, or tequila, or straight up anything. Pick something fruity that will remind her of the plans of a beach and some fruity bitch drinks that you’ve promised before all this went down.

Until next time boys and girls, play safe. Ok? Thanks. Until I see you next, I’ll attempt to not trip your drunk ass girlfriend, but it won’t be easy. Just sayin’.