Bachelorette party

One of my best friends got married last week-end, so naturally we had a party for her. To be more specific, we had a bachelorette party for her. This is not to be confused with a bridal shower. The bridal shower is the one you invite your grandma to. The bachelorette party is the one you don't invite your grandma to. For example, you would not invite your grandma to a bar.*



Also, you wouldn't try to convince your grandma to follow the bar with... more drinking!**

Nor would you invite her to partake of a dessert that everyone affectionately calls "Satan"***

However, that is exactly what you would do at a bachelorette party.

Before you start worrying about my eternal salvation and stuff,
*Spark is a non-alcoholic bar
**this drink is Martinellis cider (with quite a bit of head, I might add)
***this is a delicious dessert that Jessie (the reason for the party) made for us girls freshman year--we call it Satan because it has pudding, cream, oreos, fat, more fat, sugar, more sugar, and more fat. In other words, it will probably destroy your body. But it is oh, so good.

Copycat

My sister is really cool. She has two beautiful boys, operates two blogs, runs about a million miles a week (only a slight exaggeration), and somehow finds time to cook awesome food. Really awesome food. So its no wonder that I want to be just like her. I have to tell myself that so I don't feel bad that I am so uncreative that I have to do exactly as she does.

Here's what I did: while I was in New York Lizzie made homemade granola. This might sound repetitive, but it was awesome. Naturally, as soon as I got home I wanted to get the ingredients to try making it myself.

(her pictures look better)

I did okay until it came time to put in the honey. A while ago my grandpa gave us a HUGE bottle of honey, and because I thought we still had a lot left, I didn't bother getting any at the store. Oops. I had to scrape out every single drop of honey we had in the apartment.

Poor little honey bear--being sacrificed for the sake of my tastebuds.

After that everything went well...


...until it was time to take it out. Apparently things don't need to cook as long in Utah as they do in New York. Or maybe my oven burns hotter than Lizzie's does. Regardless, the granola is still edible, but it's not awesome. And I'm not going to post a picture of it.

Sigh. Maybe I shouldn't be such a copycat.