Happy Birthday, J!

I gather a lot of you were summarily disgusted with the sandwich I was so enamored with, so let’s just move along to more crowd-pleasing treats, like chocolate fountains.

We whipped this bad boy out for a small gathering we had over the weekend to celebrate J officially turning into an old man. (Actually he didn’t turn into an old man until today: happy birthday, sweetie! Since I’m five years younger than him, I get to make old man jokes for the rest of our lives; isn’t that a great perk?) Anyway, I’m astounded at the remarkable speed with which the chocolate fountain went from being a slightly expensive, gourmet thing you had delivered to a party and manned by a professional chocolate fountaineer to a thing that’s “As Seen on Television” and given to you by an aunt at Christmas. We have theories about this particular fountain, namely that it’s base, which proclaims it an “Old Fashioned Fondue Fountain” is really a leftover crockpot circa 1973, redesigned slightly to accommodate a few extra parts that allow it to spew warm cheese and chocolate. Oh yes, it can do cheese, too. The book that accompanies the fountain also suggests trying barbeque sauce. A cascading waterfall of BARBEQUE SAUCE. I’ll allow you a few moments to fully ponder your disgust.

All better?

Birthday celebrations are appropriately picking up again today and I’m preparing a lovely dinner, which will be taken with wine and the lovely flicker of American Idol. Our neighbor sang “Happy Birthday” to J last night. Well, not so much our “neighbor” as a stray cat. And not so much “sang” as screamed in heat all. night. long. I like to think the birthday wish was still intentioned, though.

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