This morning Mr. H and I attended an Indian birthday party. We made up fifty percent of the white people in attendance. People asked us “Is this your first Indian event?” No, we’ve got a few Hindu weddings and birthday parties under our belts, and no, they aren’t any louder than Mr. H’s family on a slow day.

The Other White People kept following us around, and it was really embarassing. Those damn honkies kept asking what the food was.

“What’s this garbanzo bean thing?”
“It’s chana masala,” I said.
“What is this spice? It’s soooo spicy. Is it curry?”
“No, it’s chili powder and garam masala.”
An Indian bystander: “Ooh, she knows what it is!”  Food of many lands, I salute you. You might as well be octopus eyes, chana masala. I’ll eat the hell out of you anyway. Me eat everything. The worst food I ever had in my life came from the Cheesecake Factory. It was worse than that time I accidentally ate the moldy yogurt.

Internet, I am just wasting time waiting for the architect. Then we are off to the high seas! We will probably only eat White People Food for the rest of the weekend. Boring.