Girlfriend of the year

Jim’s dad bought us tickets to a crab feed at the Masonic Temple in Vallejo. I ate overcooked penne pasta with homemade sauce (the only redeeming quality). Jim’s dad was nice enough to also score me some salad without dressing. I mixed it with a bit of the wilted overdressed crap they served to the rest of the table and was in business. The garlic bread was completely overbuttered and I killed a tree blotting the grease off. Luckily they served the salad, bread, and pasta before the crab, because as soon as they started bringing out the trays of crabs, I lost my appetite. The smell itself was absolutely repugnant. I became friends with a fixed point over Jim’s sister’s shoulder, since it’s pretty much the only thing I looked at for the rest of the night. I tried to describe the experience to Jim in terms he could understand, but I’m pretty sure he thought I was exaggerating. I told him to picture watching someone eating rotten cow brains next to him and the stench was overpowering. The thing for me is that it seems so barbaric to be cracking the crab. Very animalistic. I hate it. Couple that with the smell, and I’m a goner. On the upside, L and his current girl M came over and brought bau. Yum-o!! I tried the yellow bean stuff for the first time and it was just as good as the red bean ones. The only thing with store-bought is that the dough itself isn’t nearly as tasty as homemade, but I wasn’t going to complain. I may have slightly grossed L out by inhaling the thing in under a minute, but oh well. Later on that night, the boys burned some refrigerated cookie dough. M and I flushed them down the toilet. They really were pretty inedible. And it was kind of fun.