• Drinking my very favorite bubbly
• Winning FOUR bets at the race track
• Eating a great bagel
• Finishing a big step of a wedding-related project

Happy Labor Day, Blogdom! I hope your day was great!!!

2. If you cut me off in traffic only to slow down in front of me, I will yell at you, and probably flap my arms around in outrage. But I will never, ever flip you the bird. I’ve made that gesture under 10 times in my life. It icks me out.

3. I think there are few meals more perfect than refried beans, salsa, cheese, sour cream, and tortilla chips.

4. The not-super-authentic Tex Mex place down the street from me consistently has the best service I’ve encountered in San Francisco. Yes, better than Boulevard, even.

5. If you tell me that whatever I’m eating is gross, I will probably never forgive you for it. That bugs me more than just about anything. I find it horribly rude.

6. My favorite chicken tikka masala comes in a frozen package from Trader Joe’s. I am fully aware of how low-brow that is, but I cannot help it. It is delicious! And cheap! And less than two blocks away!

7. Hearing someone use the words “Jeggings” or “Jorts” aloud makes me want to punch myself in the ear repeatedly.

8. I have no idea how to run the back end of this website.

Anything you’ve needed to say lately?

I wish for you to have the most luxurious bubble bath of your life.

I wish that you’ll get a great belly laugh from something wonderful and surprising.

I wish for you to eat something delicious.

I wish for you to feel deliriously, twirlingly, face-splitting-smilingly happy for a moment.

I wish that you’ll give-and-receive a great hug.

I wish for you to be caught off-guard, just for a moment, by something beautiful.

Happy Friday, friends!

(Wow. That scan looks even crappier here than it did before! Tra-lalala! The green is lovely and clover-y – please ignore the strong yellow undertones here.)

The ladies will be wearing plum, while the accents will be green, focusing on Liberty of London fabrics. Dudes will be sporting tuxes, with a few little surprises, I hope.

…

Yup, that’s my wedding update. The world can continue to spin now.

Update: I am insane, and that scan is totally bugging me. I can’t find a better image of the left-hand print, but here are better images of the green print and the plum.

Carry on.

You see, Blogdom, I’ve been holding out on you. For a few years, I’ve held the perfect recipe for pimento cheese, and I’ve never shared it. For those of you born outside the South, pimento cheese is one of the great sandwich staples of that portion of the country. A little creamy, a little tangy, a little spicy… and, some would say, a lot low-brow. Studded with bits of pimento pepper, for sweetness, and pickle, for crunch. Perfect between two slices of whatever bread you have on hand for a quick lunch, or between two slices of fresh white bread sans crusts for a dignified snack. Open the windows, pour yourself a glass of sweet tea, and enjoy.

I make pimento cheese rarely, in small batches, and only when company’s coming. I would otherwise finish the entire tub myself, in as few sittings as humanly possible. I started with a basic online recipe, scrapped it after several mediocre efforts, and began working on my own. It isn’t totally authentic, but I daresay it’s just as delicious, and fits into my World Of Acceptable Foods: things that aren’t chemically processed (as much as possible, anyway), aren’t partially-hydrogenated, and aren’t filled with HFCS. This batch will make enough for about four sandwiches, with some leftovers for spreading on crackers or (gasp, I’m about to gross you out DON’T KNOCK IT ‘TIL YOU TRY IT) slices of tart apple. A few notes: the cheese is best shredded finely, but don’t worry about pureeing it. It’s sort of nice to know what you’re eating, yes? Chop up your pickles as much as you can tolerate. And don’t skip the hot sauce, even if you don’t love hot things. I promise, it is worth it.

Abby’s Pimento Cheese

1/4 pound (about two “fluffy cups”) finely shredded sharp cheddar cheese, or a combo of cheddar and gruyere (my fave)
4 oz. jarred pimento or piquillo peppers, drained, juice reserved
1-2 tablespoons mayo
4-6 cornichon pickles
4-5 drops of hot sauce

Chop the cornichons and peppers. Place in a bowl with the cheese, mayo, and hot sauce. Mash with a fork until blended. If you need more liquid for semi-smoothness, add a drop or two of the liquid from the peppers. Save some for the other people in your life.

Let it be noted that today, 8/21/10, I ran out of almost every beauty product I own. Let’s count them, shall we?

• Foundation
• Concealer
• Powder
• Toothpaste
• Shampoo
• Conditioner
• Razor blades
• Face Cream
• Face wash
• Eye cream
• Blush
• Mascara
• Deodorant

I cannot tell you how strange it is to run out of every one of these items simultaneously. I feel sort of as though it’s a sign of some kind. Please excuse me while I count my pennies and snuggle with my body wash and plentiful lipglosses.

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Over the past ten years, my weight has gone up and down. In moments of high stress or emotional crisis, I gain weight like gangbusters. I’ve even lost some weight, here or there. On any given day, however, it is highly likely that I’ll hop on the scale and see that I’m clocking in at 138.

Internet, I am 61 inches tall. 138 pounds is more pounds than I would like to see.

For the wedding, I’d like to weigh 130. Well… I’d really like to weigh 125, but that would put me at my lightest weight since The Great Mono Incident. 130 seems manageable, and is a weight that I’ve reached a few times, and held onto for more than two consecutive years, right before I met the Horse Whisperer. The problem is, losing weight is nearly impossible for me.

I know, I know, it’s basic science: more calories out than calories in means weight loss. That is so not true in my case. I’ve spent three weeks watching what I eat, eating carbs only if they are high in fiber, cutting out alcohol and sugar, and eating vegetables with wild abandon. Today I hopped on my scale, and discovered…

I have gained a pound.

I am not built to be a particularly small person. At 135 pounds, I wear a size 4. At 98 pounds, I wore a size 4. I have wide-set bones, and my ribcage is enormous. I don’t expect to look gamine, by any stretch of the imagination. But to be so careful and gain a pound is totally deflating.

We’re getting our engagement photos taken in a month, so the game is ON. I’d like to hit 135 by September 20. Let’s see what happens…

We did any number of wedding-related things, with which I will not bore you, except to say: HOLY MOLY. GETTING MARRIED IS EXPENSIVE, YO. We’re keeping it as simple as humanly possible, but when I get a quote of NINE THOUSAND DOLLARS to feed 100 people heavy h’ors doeuvres? WHAT THE HEY???

Edit: I realize that “simple as humanly possible” would be going to city hall and just signing the piece of paper. We’re not being that simple. I realize that my statement was hyperbole. To quote Whoorl, peace be with you.

Ahem.

We also went to my favorite place on earth, the San Francisco Ferry Building, for breakfast and some excellent people watching. And I finally got my one good knife sharpened! I am unreasonably excited about my ability to cut things! (Saying that last sentence aloud in a public place, without context, is a terrible idea, FYI.)

On Sunday, we borrowed a dear friend’s gigantor truck, and drove up to Petaluma to pick up this new friend:

My sweet former coworker has been cleaning out her garage, and she gifted us with this gorgeous piece. (Also the curtains in the guest room, come to think of it.) It will be my next refinishing project, though it may have to wait a bit. Too many irons in the fire at the moment!

On another note, you may notice that these photos feature a New! And improved! feature: SUNLIGHT. That’s right, we had peeks of sunshine all weekend, and I cannot tell you what a difference it makes.

So, in a nutshell, that was my weekend. What about you? Any adventures?

But there is one change that I don’t like: These days, when someone approaches me on the street to speak to me, I automatically assume that they are crazy.

You see, where I grew up, people talk to strangers all the time. I go back to Virginia and have full-on conversations with people I’ve never seen before, nor will see again. (Well… actually, that’s not necessarily true. In a town of 8,000 permanent residents, you are likely to see everyone again at some point.) In San Francisco, people tend to be very guarded about talking to strangers. I’ve occasionally helped someone with a bag, or alerted them to something falling out of their purse, and I’m always first met with the stony look of, “Please don’t talk to me, Potentially Crazy Person.”

The truth, though, is that San Francisco is sort of full of crazy people. Generally, it’s pretty clear who they are: the guy on the bus screaming at the universe in general, the person wearing the tutu and tinfoil hat (caveat: this only applies on a day that isn’t a festival, when anyone may be wearing that combination. Or in certain neighborhoods, where anyone may be wearing that combination. Or… you know… on a Tuesday. When anyone may be wearing that combination). Sometimes, however, the crazy suddenly starts coming out of the mouth of someone you’d previously assumed was Not Crazy.

Last month, at my favorite fabric store, I was speaking with an employee about a beautiful piece of wool. We had an absolutely lovely conversation, when suddenly, she screamed, “Jesus Christ was an alien! Don’t you forget that!!!” And, just like that, I suddenly found myself on the receiving end of a monologue that combined aliens, Old Souls, Aztec prophecies, Jesus, and Barack Obama.

The smalltown southerner inside me is still learning how to walk away from the crazy, but it is a challenge. There’s a part of me that finds it sad that I have to turn off my empathic side in order to make it through the day without a crazy incident. I guess that’s just the cost of living here, but it sometimes bothers me. But it makes me appreciate getting off the plane in Virginia, smiling at someone on the corner, and the warm moment when they smile back.