My entire apartment is covered in slowly drying pasta right now. And flour. Flour is everywhere the pasta is not. I’m sure I made at least two pounds of pasta last night. Maybe three. Pasta making is a lot of fun, it turns out, but it’s also really fucking messy.
All this is in preperation for what was going to be a simple dinner between postmates, but what is rapidly turning into a dinner party for all the vols in my city. w00t. Turns out, I love throwing parties. That’s one of my back-up plans for life. I would be a KICK ASS wedding planner. No, really. I’d be great at it. But that’s not the point of my story.
The point of my story is that my apartment is a disaster. And also, that pasta is really easy to make.