What is unfunnier than a writer writing about not being able to write? A writer using the excuse of being unable to write anything good by figuring out what to make for her annual Easter Party!!!!
No offense to my good friends at work, but I almost jumped out the window at the sheer glee of dying in a bloody heap outside of the CFO’s office and right in front of the Thai Truck last week as I was forced to sing the Sex Pistol’s version of “God Save the Queen” in a fake English accent. In all fairness, I did chose the song, but it was only because I was afraid if I didn’t pull something out of my ass quickly, we would have to do a tribute to The Monkeys (RIP, Davey). One of my colleagues had returned from London with an absolute addiction to tea sandwiches. No one knows why this is, but I think he was accosted by a bunch of hooligans in Pimlico and forced to ride the Green Line (Go Green! Go District!) eating tea sandwiches dressed as Posh Spice.
He called me one day and said, “Jen, I don’t know why, but I fucking love tea sandwiches. I can’t stop eating them. I have to have tea sandwiches ALL THE TIME”. It was like dealing with an old school opium addict. So we did what any good colleagues would do and we threw him a tea sandwich party. We mainlined that cucumber sandwich right into his veins. As he slumped onto the floor, drooling slightly out of his mouth, he said, “thank you. I fucking love cucumber sandwiches” and died.
I probably could have survived this, even though he is a very old and dear friend, but it turned into a “proper English tea” with frilly table cloths and games. So I did the best I could and called my band, “Jenny Rotten and the Science Pistols”. I really would have preferred to sing the Toy Dolls, but since no one knew the Pistols, they sure as hell weren’t going to be able to do a decent rendition of “Spiders in the Dressing Room” or “Dougy Giro”.
Remember that movie from the 1970’s, I think it was a drug scare film, where the kids smoked PCP and tried to run through the glass window of an office tower and it broke and they died? I tried that, but we are only on the first floor and I was only on Earl Grey, so I just got a bump on my head and tried again.
Since I am a quitter and unable to even kill myself properly, I just wrote an Anti Corruption policy and promised to do better at my next party.
Easter. Glorious Easter. A true gift, a magical wonderland, a place of bunnies and rainbows and chocolate and chickens and Spring and flowers and bunnies (I am really into the bunnies – do not mess with the bunnies) and experiments in food.
I have been a vegetarian for 26 years (you are welcome, Morrissey and I think it was totally dickish for you to convince me to become veg and then not rescue me from high school – do you know how awful that place was?) and all of my friends have food allergies or only eat things from within 50 feet or that have been blessed by Durga – so throwing a party is always a challenge.
The gluten free folks are the hardest- last year I did mac and cheese, but it got too dry. I am still going to keep the long rice salad (bean thread – no gluten!), but have decided instead of mac and cheese, to develop something I have been thinking about for a long time. Tater tot pie with no meat, no dairy and no gluten. I am pretty sure it is going to have to involve Cajunized tots with a vegan gumbo (where do you get file around here?) that you can scoop out. Of course it will taste much better if it is warm enough for everyone to dress like sluts so we can play hockey bunny in the street and start our egg hunt.
Oh! And this year? Team activity- Peep Dioramas depicting famous hair bands (or no hair bands).
Tart-tastic. It better be.
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