I'll Bring The Illegal Substances! / by LD


Of all the things in life that are difficult (math equations. Rocket science. Applying eyeliner. Watching televised sports. Et cetera.), you'd think planning a potluck among friends would be relatively low on the scale.

And yet.

Since the dawn of time, planning dinner parties has been an easy task, dating all the way back to The Last Supper ("Look, Paul, I said I was providing the blood--I mean wine. This cheap boxed imitation vino is insulting my palate. Did I not tell you to bring the figs? DID I NOT? I did. Thus sayeth myself."). It's not exceptionally difficult to send out a page or a messenger bearing a scroll, or an Evite, or even the pony express to inform guests, "Hey, we're having dinner. 7 p.m. My castle es su castle, homie. Miriam, you bring the fatted calf. Thomas, you handle the mulling spices." Am I right? 

Well, for my friends and I, this whole "potluck" thing is, in fact, on par with rocket science, triathlons, and passing a sobriety test whilst being pissing drunk. Not that I've ever had to deal with any of those conundrums - which is precisely the point of course: They're difficult. Duh. And as easy as it would seem to send out the Facebook message with a date, a time, and a specific list of whom shall bear what gifts, we still find ourselves occasionally adrift in a sea of "What can I bring???" 

Recently we've resorted to the tried and true method of assigning each person an ingredient, entree, or what have you. I think we began insisting upon this method of spontaneous offering after a potluck we held around this time last year. 

Come! We said.

Bring Something Yummy! We said.

(...Like a pasta, a vegetable, a salad, a fruit, a grain, a protein, and a pinch of sugar, We thought, but ultimately, detrimentally didn't vocalize.)

Instead of the 7-course feast we imagined, our potluck was a bit of a grab bag of our guests' own creative turpitude when they thought to themselves, "Dip? Who needs dip? I'll bring an XS bag of baby carrots and call it a day!" Our menu, as fate would so mercurially have it, consisted of old spaghetti, Mexican pastries, deviled eggs, carrot sticks, and Pop Tarts. Your mouth is just watering at the very thought, no? Mine is too, but more at the memory of what four Pop Tarts and a bottle of sugary Mexican cola will do to a person's salivary glands. 

Recently, J sent out a message to the Long Beachers (& Beyond - because I won't call La Hab by name, wretched place that it is) (Just kidding, Mike) (...But seriously, SO FAR AWAY from any nearest freeway, man) saying, "Dinner this week? My house, semi-potluck style?"

Here we go. 

Thus far, the pledged contributions have gone something like this: 

Mike: So I could use a time and a suggestion of what to bring. If not, I'll just show up whenever and bring a heaping portion of sass."

Laurel: I'll take seconds. Yummy.

Jess: I'll bring the salad!

Ash: I can bring guacamole and a bottle of wine.

Laurel: So far we've got...guacamole, salad, and wine. Sounds like the supermodel diet if I ever heard one. I'll bring the cocaine!

In other words, this could be the best potluck ever. Unless, of course, we've got the Fuzz on tap.

(If you aren't laughing uproariously at this point, I don't think there's much else we can do. I hope you enjoyed your time here on earth before dying prematurely of BOREDOM.)