Tag Archives: weddings

photo friday: table 12 rocks the house as well

31 Oct


Last weekend, Swede and I and the DC Family traversed to Baltimore for a Family Member’s wedding. The bride—who rocked the house in Michigan—knew well to put our motley crew next to the dance floor for her wedding in Charm City.

It’s just better that way.

Pre-wedding, our Baltimore bride informed us that in addition to being next to the dance floor we were also “a stone’s throw” from the bar.

“What kind of stone?” we asked. “And do you mean a light throw, or a solid toss?”

“A light throw,” she responded.


It was more akin to a medium-solid toss with a modest-weight rock.


On the plus side, if the bar was one leg of a triangle, and the dance floor was another, the third, closing leg was the photo booth.

Photo. Booth.

With props!

(At one point I sported both a crown and a fake hook hand.)

(I looked amazing.)

So all was forgiven.


though i have no garage in which to party

2 Dec


I’m having a bit of a day. It started out just fine. Just fine indeed, and then suddenly it was not and if underneath my bed wasn’t stuffed with boxes and boxes of wrapping paper, champagne flutes and other random flotsam I would peace out under there right now and see you all in the morning. I would knit the dust bunnies that inhabit the space into a blanket to keep myself warm.

But alas, just because I feel (in my own head) like I can’t do anything right today does not mean I have time to wallow in the corner of my pity party with my sad balloon. But you know what it does mean?


Cheeseballs always make me happy.

How could they not? Have you ever had them? No? You really should. They’re so, so very good. Addictive, really. This batch here I made a little while back for a buddy of mine as a reward for him having to stand up in his friend’s wedding. Because listen, as a Major Bridesmaid (eight, count ‘em EIGHT under my belt, thank you very much, and yes ha ha funny, no I’ve never been compared to that movie 27 Dresses with Katherine Heigel, you’re so original, ha ha, etc etc) I can tell you something no one else in your wedding party is going to tell you, but most are thinking, and I mean this in the nicest way possible: Being In Your Wedding Can Be Like Work and Sometimes A Pain In My Ass. Therefore, standing up in a wedding deserves a reward. And that reward is cheeseballs. In my opinion, anyway.

I announced on the Facebook that I was going to make these, and one FB Friend immediately commented on the Midwestern-ness of this treat, to which I agreed. It is essentially cheese and pork sausage rolled together like a meatball. It is baked meat and cheese. There are no health-redeeming qualities about these munchies whatsoever. They are delicious.

I take that back. I did make them kind of healthy.

See? It even says so on the box.

These are pretty easy to make. Just throw some shredded cheese in a bowl.

Maybe test the cheese to make sure it tastes okay. Maybe have a second bag of cheese on hand in case you eat too much of the first.

Then chop up some onion, some celery, and throw all that together with the cheese, some raw pork sausage, the Bisquick (healthy!) and some other stuff.

Don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty. In fact, it’s essential if you want to make these right. And it will take some work to get it all together. You can do it. Put your back into it. Listen to Ice Cube. He knows of what he speaks. Raps. Floats on a rhyme. Whatevs.

And then it should look like this.

Then just take a portion – maybe about a tablespoonful or so? Hard to say. I’m not so much on the measuring. Just depends on how big you want your balls.


I said balls.

Line ‘em up on a baking sheet and throw them in the oven.

Okay, maybe don’t throw them, so much as you should gently place them in the oven. You don’t want your balls going all over the place.

Heh heh.


And then, some minutes later, TA-DAAAA!

Sausage cheeseballs! Try not to eat them all in one sitting. Though you may not be able to refrain. And that’s okay. There’s no judging here. My judgment pants are at the cleaners.

Were I in the Midwest right now, I might make these for a party I would hold in my garage.** But I’m not, so I won’t. Besides, like I said, I made these for a friend of mine, and he’s from Seattle, so instead of a party in a garage these little tigers got packed up in some Tupperware and shipped down the street to meet there delicious demise. I like sharing a little piece of the Midwest to those from other parts of the country. It’s proof that we’re not just a bunch of flyover states.

Sausage Cheeseballs recipe courtesy of Jimmydean.com. (With some of my own notes as well.)


  1. 2 pkgs. (16 oz. each) pork sausage (to kick it up a notch, you can use one pkg of hot or zesty flavored sausage, because who doesn’t like spicy balls?)
  2. 1-1/2 cups all-purpose baking mix
  3. 16 oz. (4 cups) shredded sharp Cheddar cheese
  4. 1/2 cup finely chopped onion
  5. 1/2 cup finely chopped celery
  6. 2 teaspoons black pepper
  7. 2 teaspoons minced garlic (optional)


Preheat oven to 375 F. Combine all ingredients in a large mixing bowl; stir well. (Use your hands. It’s much, much easier. Like you’re making meatloaf or something.) Form into 1” balls. Place on ungreased baking sheet; bake 18-20 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from oven; cool 5 minutes before removing from pan. Serve with cocktail forks or toothpicks. (Or just use your damn hands. Pick them up with your fingers, for chrissake. Just make sure they’re washed first. Otherwise, ew. That’s gross.)


May be prepared ahead and frozen uncooked. To bake from frozen: thaw on baking sheet 15 minutes; bake in preheated oven 20-25 minutes or until golden brown. Variation: for firmer texture, add 3 cups baking mix and 2 cups shredded cheese to the ingredients listed above. (YEAH, IF YOU WANT FIRMER BALLS, DO THIS! HA! I SAID BALLS!)

*Yes, I said “y’all.” Yes, I realize I’m from Chicago, where we do not say “y’all.” However, I have lived in DC for four years now, which is muchly populated with southerners who do, indeed, say “y’all.” And apparently I’ve picked it up.

**If you understand that reference, then I love you, because you obviously understand my true heart.

no sex in the champagne glass

22 Oct

Have I ever told you I know from weddings?

I know from weddings.

I happen to have been in many several of them (eight, to be exact, if you’re counting bridesmaid positions; 11, if you also count the three I did readings for), and have been to many several more. In fact, I went to two while on vacation recently—bookended weekends of weddings, one in Chicago, one in Traverse City, Michigan.

Beautiful, both of them, the weddings. The brides looked gorgeous, and I am not just saying that because they are two of my closest girls in the whole wide world. Them girls looked real Hawt. In a classy, bride-like way. Lucky guys, Doug and Pete, to be hitched along for life with these gals.

And after both lovely ceremonies, the real mess of weddings happened. The receptions. The party-on-Wayne, party-on-Garth receptions. Both had unique venues – Mare’s in a converted warehouse, Anne’s in a heritage center overlooking a river. Or so I’m told. Seeing as how my table was perfectly situated between the bar and the dance floor, and the windows that showed the lovely greenery/river/landscape outside were on the other side of the room, and seeing as how, as my friend Smell put it so eloquently the next morning, “Yeah, when I get around you guys and I get drunk I think that I’m a really good dancer,” I did not make it far enough across the room to see said lovely landscape. I saw that there were windows, at least. I saw them from a distance.

Photos were taken, dancing was to be had, conversations with Native American statues took place.

Conversation with statue

Booze may have been consumed. Sexy booze was consumed!

Sex Champagne

Do you even have to ask if I stopped one of the servers at Anne’s reception and asked, “For serious?” as I pointed to the bottle? “Pink champagne called ‘SEX’?”

“Um, yeah,” the young man replied. “I’ve never seen it in pink, usually it’s just white SEX.”

Do you even have to ask if I then scuttled over to the head table and hissed delightedly at the Bride and her Matron of Honor (and other simply terrific college friend of mine), Nora, “You guys! Do you realize that we are drinking SEX? Why is yours white? Mine is pink!”?

And I’m sure you assumed—correctly—that I didn’t bother waiting for an answer before scuttling off to another table to gleefully tell those guests the same thing.

In case you were wondering, one of the reasons I am not yet married is because I am 12.

Later on in the night, I was sipping pink SEX, talking with a friend of mine (who it should be noted asked me over the weekend if he could have a code name on this here blog should he ever be mentioned, to which I said yes, of course, and now, since he is being mentioned, we shall not use his real name but his code name which, since I am feeling incredibly creative today, will heretofore be That Guy) and by that I mean I was yammering on about God Knows What at That Guy who probably wasn’t still standing there for conversation’s sake so much as he was there because he couldn’t figure out how to slip away without me noticing. (Hint: Just go. I talk so much half the time I don’t even notice if someone is there to listen. Barring a human in my range, I’ll talk to a wall. And if there are no walls, I’ll talk to myself.) So we’re standing there, and I’m gabbing away and then—and I think this is how it happened, but I really can’t be sure, as I’d had a glass or two of adult beverages by that point—for whatever reason, I decided to set my glass down.

Which is when I discovered that when drinking pink SEX champagne, I turn into The Incredible Hulk.

I finished my glass of champagne and turned away from That Guy to the table next to us and set my glass down in what I thought was a normal manner. And it would have been, for a normal girl. But like I said. Pink SEX. Lots of babbling. Knowing me, there may have been a gregarious hand gesture or three in there.

And bam.


The glass shattered when I set it down. It took me a minute to realize what had happened. That Guy and I both just sort of stood there, perplexed, looking at the glass for a moment. And I continued looking at it, perplexed, for another long moment while That Guy helpfully and carefully cleaned up the jagged stem and glass, dusting up the small slivers and throwing the lot away.

“I’m like The Incredible Hulk!” I believe I yelled at That Guy when he returned. “I don’t know my own strength!”

And then a really good song came on and I bounced off to the dance floor and then I think I switched to red wine so there wouldn’t be anymore Incredible Hulk moments the rest of the night. Though I did inelegantly hurdle over some chairs later, but that’s because I’d just found out my sister was in labor, and that’s the only proper reaction to such news. And at one point I tried to climb in a canoe.

Don’t ask.

I just know from weddings. And my incredible, incredible Hulk-like strength. We can just leave it at that.

Pouring champagne

the most boring channel ever. and cake!

7 Oct

Baby Watch! 2009! is still the most boring channel ever. Nothing is happening. This kid is never coming out. So I’ve decided to go to lunch with one of my other sisters while the pregnant one goes to the doctor so the doctor can confirm why yes, yes indeed, your child is not going to be born until, oh, 2012, because he’s just that comfortable in your womb.

But in the meantime, have some cake!

My best gal, happens to be a funeral director, and is in love with another funeral director, which is good since they got married this weekend. And as funeral directors are wont to be, they are incredibly fun, party-type people who like the whimsy. Hence, the cake at their rehearsal dinner:


Yeah, it was pretty awesome. And freakin’ tasty, too. Who knew death could be so delicious?

urn cake

This top urn cake was almond with apricot filling.

casket cake

This bottom casket cake was chocolate banana cake with peanut butter mousse filling. Would you just LOOK at the DETAIL on this thing? Clever, I tell you. There is nothing better than clever cake.

Casket and urn cake courtesy of The Cake Girls right here in Chicago.

the fairest of them all

23 Jul

MirrorThe main reason I went home to Chicago a couple of weekends ago was because my best gal, Mare Beh Beh, was having a shower thrown for her in honor of her upcoming nuptials. She told me that even though I am a bridesmaid I was in no way whatsoever required to fly in for the event. But then she told me that there would be wine and that I wouldn’t be responsible for cleaning up the detritus of party madess we left in our wake and I said sign me up, babycakes, This Girl is coming home.