while trying to come up with a title for this post, harry has called me 25 times asking me when i’m coming home.

20 Apr

Well Hashbrown Harry’s is a mere week away, so there’s a whole lot of shit to do every second of the day. Here’s what got done today:

  • Ordered lots of stuff online: compostable spoons, paper straws, glassine bags for the hashbrownies, just the usual.
  • Bought some sparklers. Just in case I need them.
  • Placed my order for official Hashbrown Harry’s t-shirts!!!!!! (Don’t buy the ones in the parking lot, they aren’t officially licensed) Couldn’t decide on what color to get. Ordered “sport heather.” Questioned my decision. “No, I like heather,” I told Charlie. “How the hell do you know her name is Heather?” Yup.
  • Rummaged around various places for some hideously impressive server aprons.
  • Stared at the huge pile of eggshells that I have to somehow turn into candles.
  • Stalked Miranda Lambert again on Facebook.
  • Worked on the official Hashbrown Harry’s Spotify Mix.
  • Plotted my course for baking over the next 7 days.
  • Found a hair in my sandwich at Panera. Was handed a new and improved sandwich sans plate. Spent at least an hour EXTREMELY confused.
  • Listened to Riley chase the cat around yelling “Titty! Titty! Titty!” maybe tomorrow we’ll work on our Ks.

Here’s what I Googled and/or Pinterested today:

  • Mini birthday cakes
  • What recipes use xantham gum? (Because what the fuck do I do with the pound of it that I bought???)
  • Breakfast dinner party
  • Pancake clipart
  • Where do they sell coconut shortening?
  • Weed brownie recipes

Yup, Hashbrown Harry’s is really really soon and I’m freaking out. Although it could be worse. I could have to cook it. Sucks for Harry.


Anyway, today has been so long that I don’t remember how it started. Probably I got out of bed, but you never know.

One thing’s for sure. This isn’t quite the 4/20 of yesteryear, when I would listen to some dude playing the guitar, snacking on weed brownies and passing out for 9 hours on a grassy knoll. Nope, this year I watched a bunch of 50-year-olds smoke joints outside my office window while I looked up marshmallow recipes. Because apparently 50 is the new 20.


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