You know how I'm always saying I don't cook? It's because I don't. Except when I do. It happens about once a year. Celebrating Jared's birthday with both families and Mother's Day tend to overlap, so I end up cooking. Twice. In one weekend. Then I need a year to recover. Let's examine how this went this past weekend in timeline/Instagram form:
Friday afternoon: already worried about dinner Saturday night. Coordinating margarita plans with my sister via text.
Friday night - 10pm: haven't finished the mexican chicken casserole, just started the cheesecake, am tempted to break into the Jose.
Middle of Friday night - cheesecake is out of the oven. Doesn't look right. I still have to babysit the damn thing for 3 more hours. This happens every year. Why am I so bad at time management?
Who the hell knows what time it is - if I'm up for several more hours, I'm painting my nails. Apparently I want to look like Barbie.
...and then that's it. I gave up, put it in the fridge around 3 or 4 am, and prayed for the best. It was fine. It always is.
How was your weekend?