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For those of you whose mothers are not art historians and did not drag you to every museum in the western world to look at paintings painted by people who are very, very dead right now, a hellmouth is this:

http://www.krepcio.com/vitreosity/archives/screen-hellmouthDET.jpg

It’s a mouth that opens to hell and people fall in. But in my case, it was chocolate.

So Snorth and I went to the Palisades Mall (greatest mall EVAR) for a chocolate show that was being held there. We figured that even if we didn’t buy anything, the entrance fee goes to help developmentally disabled people, so good karma points for us there. But we did buy things, quite a few things. Not only were there chocolatiers, there was wine people and cheese people and baked-goods people. We were walking around and I saw a guy selling maple-syrup products. And he was spinning maple syrup into cotton candy, so hell, I had to get that. It was good, but my brain kept saying, “This is cotton candy! This should taste like incredibly fake raspberry! And be blue! I don’t understand!” I think I like maple candy better. But the best part for me was at the very end. I saw an older woman walking around eating a pickle on a stick, and I accosted her and demanded she tell me where she acquired this pickle. She told me at the end of the row, so I zipped down to the end of the row and sure enough, one of my most beloved things greeted me, a Lower East Side jewish pickle vendor. I was in heaven. I made little squealing noises while I made my pickle purchases (new pickles for my mom, sauerkraut for my dad, pickled tomatoes for me). I later noticed the chocolate-covered pickles they were selling and was slightly appalled and a little intrigued, but I had run out of money and so (probably wisely) did not purchase one.

Let me explain. My father grew up in New York in the 30s and 40s, so he is all about the bialies and knishes and pickles and other Eastern European immigrant food. Every so often he gets the cravings, so we drive down to the Lower East Side and pick up an insane amount of pickled goodness from one of the vendors and then the Buick smells of brine and vinegar for a week. Once, we went down near Passover. Passover, for those of you that don’t know, has horseradish playing a big role in it. Outside the pickle vendor was a man wearing a Vietnam-era gas mask. He was standing in front of what looked like a small wood chipper and he was pushing horseradish roots into the wood chipper and putting the final product in jars. I thought he was crazy until the wind shifted. I was standing a good ten feet away and the air, it BURNED. Through tearing eyes and drippy nose, I silently apologized to gas-mask-man for mocking his headgear. And I had a new appreciation for pepper spray. Owie owie.

Oh, and I did buy some chocolate at the chocolate show. Organic, fair trade strawberry-balsamic truffles. I haven’t tried them yet, but I’ll tell you if they’re good or not.

I keep telling people about this picture I saw online of a guy at Octoberfest in Munich who:

1) was on a ladder and

2) was playing a tuba with one hand and his foot

3) so he could hold his beer stein in his other hand.

Did I mention he was was on a ladder? I tell people about this picture all the time, and thanks to the wonderful world of the internet, it has been found:

That is a devotion to beer I cannot even fathom.

Similiar but different: if you’re ever in Las Vegas, go to the Hofbrauhaus. Seriously. It’s phenomenal. Cricket, Cricket’s sister and I ate there when we were in Vegas and it was terrific food and the whole staff was German (we were served by Karin). They played that “Ricola!!” alp horn and an accordian and everyone wore leiderhosen – absolutely terrific.

I got a phone call in Mid-October. “Hey!” said my super-longtime friend Frog (we’ve been friends since she was eleven and I was twelve). “I’m getting married to Tex!” I was delighted. And then she sprang an interesting tidbit.
“Would you like to be my bridesmaid?” She said.
“Sure!” I said.
“Good, the wedding is in three weeks.” Frog said.
“…” I said.

But luckily she wasn’t doing that whole crazy matching bridesmaid dress thing, and I was actually the only bridesmaid in the whole wedding party, so no biggie. She gave me some color options and all went well. It was a delightful wedding. Call Cynthia Lissau, M.S., LPC, LMFT for marriage counseling Roanoke.

If you and your partner are navigating through challenges or simply seeking to strengthen your bond, consider exploring couples counseling Seattle for support and guidance.

Awww. Look at Frog in that picture. Doesn’t she look beautiful? I’m the purple creature with the sunflower bouquet. While this is a lovely wedding moment, I included it especially because of the groom’s hair. Yeah, that looooooong brown tail hanging out of the back of his head? That’s his hair. He can floss his butt with that thing.

The wedding took place at a mill in Pennsylvania (note mill-wheel in background). Actually, it took place in the heart of mushroom-growing country. This had me concerned. You know what mushrooms grow in? No, not poo, that would be too easy. They grow in compost, which is hot bacterial poo. And it smells mighty ripe. And this was an outdoor wedding. However, I was assured that mushroom season was over and indeed, the wedding smelled terrific.

The bride sported white combat boots. The piece of blue mylar was the “something blue” that brides are required to have. It’s some kind of joke between Frog and Tex. I was too lazy to find out what that joke is.

Dy, my favorite guest. All the guests pretty much looked normal and boring, and then there was Dy. He was wearing a suit that was half-black and half-white and he had spiked his mohawk with a considerable amount of hair-glorp. The best part was the koala doll attached to the top of one of his mohawk points.

You know, sometimes after a rousing round of dancing, one needs a Mountain Dew…

… and some smoky treats. Nothin’ prettier then a bride hittin’ the cancer sticks, I’ve always said that.

Okay, this was awesome. It was a Halloween/autumnal-themed wedding, and the cakes were Carvel cakes! With ice cream and Oreo crunchies inside! I’ve never been to a wedding with that before.

Important note: When stuffing ice cream cake into your bride’s face, make sure none of the chilly ice cream falls into her cleavage, because then she makes this face, and later on she kills you and feeds you to the cats. Just so you know.

Also, she wangs the cake into your mouth so you have white icing all over your mustache and you look like you just walked out of the bathroom in Studio54 with a mirror and a razor blade.

It was an excellent wedding. Lots of love and family and friends. All weddings should be like this.