freakishly fancy finale
Grrrr…this actually “published” before it was supposed to. Damn you tumblr. Then again, maybe it is my on again, off again lame blog skills. Well, I posted a few entries back about the lamest commercial ever made. I’m also pretty confident that it will be difficult to out lame this commercial. But the weirdo cat proposal has a vomit inducing finale. Fair warning to my readers who are still out there…get a puke bag, you will need it.
Maybe it’s because I’m single. Maybe it’s because I’m conscious of becoming weird cat lady since I am both single and have one (seriously, I didn’t get her on purpose), but this commercial bothers me in an abnormal way. Why would any ad executive think this was acceptable. This may be the first sign of the apocalypse.
where is batman when you need him?
I really have no excuse; I guess if this blog is ever going to actually be something it’s going to be a sporadic thing. Well, I’ve been thinking about “dating” again and I’ve pretty much got enough material to supply plenty of posts (at this rate, years of posts). Maybe that was the inspiration to jump back on here. So, whilst I comb through my brain of semi-interesting stuff to write about, I’ve got another awesome date story.
I’m not really sure what possessed me to go out with him. I knew from the start he was not my type and I wasn’t interested. I don’t know what I was thinking and that is becoming a common trend. Whatever. He was persistent. He drove down from Boca and was Jewish (not that it matters, but it does for this fantastic date). I thought it was a really nice gesture that he offered to drive to Miami to take me out to dinner. We agreed ahead of time on an approximate time to meet to give us both time to get home from work and of course for him to drive down here. I don’t remember what the agreed upon time was, I just remember he showed up 90 minutes earlier than that time.
Yea, NINETY minutes. I honestly hadn’t even made it to my house—I was still on the causeway over to the beach—from work. He said he didn’t mind waiting, to take my time, don’t worry about, etc., but I couldn’t help but feel a little pressure to rush and not make him wait an hour! I literally had to stop a few times and tell myself: he can wait, he should up REALLY early. Part of me (the delusional part) thought: he is so early because he is so awesomely into me that he wanted to make a good impression. Looking back, however, assuming you got somewhere early—NINETY MINUTES EARLY—because traffic wasn’t what you expected…wouldn’t you just keep that to yourself? I would.
After walking the dog and making myself presentable, I let him know I was ready. In the meantime I had given close, but not exact (I’m not stupid) directions to my house, so we could meet. I got a reply, “yea, I think I see your building.” I know, I know, this should have been another red—no, neon—flag. I finally came out to meet him. He was wearing a Batman t-shirt.
vive la france!
See, I knew this was going to happen…I get ALL into blogging and then I have to do actual work at work ::gasp:: I couldn’t be happier about the work load, but it sure does take away from my all important blog! I have so much to update, but for now, I will let you chew on yet another incredibly awesome dating story…
I’ll admit it was a moment of weakness for me. Even Vanessa questioned my motives for accepting the date and said she wasn’t sure she could muster sitting across from Pierre. But I reminded myself to keep an open mind, maybe he was not as snooty as I remembered, maybe he was taller than I imagined, maybe he was younger than I imagined, maybe he was…oh, who am I kidding? He had a black card.
I thought Pierre was nice, enough. When he suggested dinner, at Casa Tua nonetheless, I jumped at the chance for free food, er, a nice date with an older, er, established, gentleman. Things started off nicely with champagne and another Frenchman who was only joining us for drinks. The conversation was nice to begin with and for the most part kept my attention. I’m not exactly sure when the first instance happened or at exactly what point the conversation went down the proverbial crapper, but all at once he forgot I was American. Or he just chose to ignore the fact that I’m American.
I lived in France for a few months and in my entire time there never got as much “American-Bashing” as I received in one dinner. Had it not been for the wine sommelier and the incredible bottle of wine I probably would have excused myself at: “You know, zee Amereecan Revoolootion was not aaaaa reeel revoolootion like zee French Revoolootion. I know you Amereecans like to consider it a reel revoolootion, but it was not.” This was just one example where I was forced to drink copious amounts of wine to drown out his constant criticism. Pierre’s true downfall came closer to the end of the date.
Maybe it was my heavy drinking that led to my next bad decision, agreeing to go to the Delano for just one more drink. After sitting down on one of the large sofa areas near the back bar by the pool, two champagne glasses arrived. Only a few sips into the champagne he managed to pin (wrestling style) and kiss me. Not so much kiss me as lick portions of my face. BLECH! Due to my super human strength I returned his pin with a firm shove, pushing him off me. Okay, so it wasn’t my super human so much as his puny French muscles. Nonetheless, we were sitting straight up again and I explained, “I don’t kiss on a first date.” He started to go into some rant about how Amereeecans view “the kiss” and how silly our conceptions were about, well, everything, and something about him not dating because he was french. Double blech! There was not enought wine in all of France to let his lips come close to anything on my body. So I downed the champagne and sought solace in a good ol’ American beer.
So, this past week I was watching television and while sipping on my vino an interesting commercial came on the tube. I was mesmerized. It was beauty and soul and everything good in the world. As I watched, I could actually feel my jaw slowly dropping. I held the tears back. If a man ever decides to propose to me, I hope this commercial is his drawing board for the engagement. It’s at about the 0:24 mark that I’m thinking I must be watching sketch comedy.
What kind of sick, sadistic commercial is this??? Is homeboy serious about making an entire room…FOR A CAT. Look, I admit, I have a cat. She is a total bitch, but at the end of the day I love her. I’ve saved her ungrateful ass like 3 three times now and she is still a mean bitch to me. I joke about being the crazy cat lady (every time a date goes bad, which is often, I make the joke that I’m immediately driving to the Humane Society to pick up a minimum of 6 cats. And no additional litter boxes). But this is some seriously crazy, effed up cat stuff. I hope the dude’s friends find out that he painted and set up a room for a cat to make a lame ass proposal to his (clearly) pretentious, weirdo girlfriend and make fun of him for it. Forever.
le chien à l’épicerie
I watch Jeopardy pretty regularly and I’m always amazed with the little side/intro stories for the players. Some of those folks are so excited over the lamest stories, but then again, my story would probably be about one of my awesome dates. Meh.
I got MORE sorrel in my CSA this past week, but it was red sorrel. The pesto I made was way too bitter, for my taste, and it is likely gonna get chucked. Which is a disappointment because there are some pine nuts in there that are just delicious. So I found a sorrel quiche recipe that I altered and it came out pretty good. I added sun dried tomatoes and red pepper flakes:
Not bad. Plus it worked for a Good Friday dinner sans meat and the right amount of protein and salty to go with some red wine. It was a very francophile dinner…a Haute Medoc to accompany.
goin’ a lil green
For those of you that have been reading about my fascinating life (sarcasm), you know I was pumped to join my first CSA (community supported agriculture). I’d been wanting to be involved with a CSA for a while, but wasn’t sure if I would be able to eat all those vegetables in a week. After going to the green market at South Pointe Elementary, I learned about Teena’s Pride and I’m so happy I did. There were four weeks left in the season which was perfect for me to buy and figure out if this is for me. At $19 a week and a very close pick-up for me, this seemed like the right fit for me.
I picked up my first week of veggies last week and my box was packed full of: radishes, turnips, eggplant, squash, apple mint, green and purple basil, sorrel, salad, arugula, celery, chives, heirloom tomatoes, medley of mixed baby tomatoes, and cucumber. WOW!!
When I showed some friends what I got, they said it was much better than the CSAs they belong to. Everything was so full of flavor, too. The heirloom tomatoes, however, take the cake…their taste is so, so, so good! It reminded me of picking tomatoes at my great-grandparents’ farm in Southern Indiana and eating the tomatoes like apples.
Here is a close-up of the delicious tomatoes…
It has been a bit of a challenge to figure out how to eat all of those veggies in a week, for one person. But so far I’ve done pretty good—the salad, eggplant, celery, radishes, and turnips are already gone. I’ve got one large, beautiful red heirloom tomato left, but I’m guessing that will be a goner after lunch tomorrow. I’ve been making salads now with the arugula, tomatoes, chives, a little S&P with some lemon squeezed over the top. YUM!
Now, I just need a recipe for the sorrel…hmmmm.
I’m on a Boat!
It’s been kind of a slow week. I’m doing this master cleanse that, for now, just puts me in a really angry mood. But I did get my first share from my CSA…and its awesome. But for now, I leave you with my boat date story.
I met him at one of those young professionals socializing events—it was at the Collection and there were free drinks. He seemed like a nice enough guy; handsome, succesful, and we had a good conversation. After the traditional exchange of phone numbers we played phone tag for a while always missing one another. But then a suggestion of a boat at Columbus Day Regatta (something I had not previously attended) seemed irresistible.
I ensured that I wore my hottest bikini and sunglasses for the event. He met me at the dock and gave me a quick Miami-style kiss hello. I boarded this large boat with a group of people, none of whom I knew, except the date of course. As we got situated and I was introduced to everyone the boat prepared to leave. As we pulled away from the dock, I turned around to see him sucking face with his girlfriend!!
My first thought: jump. No, don’t want to ruin the camera, phone, and potentially lose hot Christian Dior glasses. My second thought: God I hope there is a lot of booze on this boat. So after getting my bearings and realizing I was on a date with a guy that was with his girlfriend I became the friendlist girl anyone could meet and of course found the bar.
After doing some making out myself, with a bottle of Grey Goose, I found it the right time to confront the date. Finding a moment without the girlfriend, I told him what he did was wrong and that he was lucky I wasn’t the kind of girl to blab everything to his girlfriend. He of course had an explanation for his behavior: “She’s not my girlfriend.” Fine, tell me whatever it is you want, but we both know that girl thinks you come home to her every night. To this he had a further explanation: “I didn’t think she was going to show up.” Oh, well, gosh, you should have just said so in the first place, that is completely understandable to ask a girl out so long as your girlfriend won’t be there. Now he is frustrated: “So you’re telling me if I meet a girl I think is smart, attractive, and fun to be with I can’t ask her out just because I have a girlfriend.” Actually, yes, that is exactly what having a girlfriend means. I was finished with his nonsense and returned to my better-half, Mr. Goose.
After a few more hours (oh, hell, for all I know it could have been ten minutes) of drinking and sunning the music started to get louder and louder. Thus, obviously prompting me to look hot and start dancing on the boat, where I don’t know anyone. There I am sunning, drinking, dancing, and of course looking hot….and then it happened. I proceeded to fall off the boat and not only did I fall off the boat but I managed to hit every part of my body on the way down. I of course had no idea I had fallen off the boat and convinced myself that I had actually just jumped in. My fall of course prompted approximately five people to surround me as I surfaced, ready to give me CPR/call paramedics, as it was clear the drunk girl no one knows is drowning. Luckily for me the only drowning that occured that day was that of my pride.
Editor’s Note: I truly was not convinced that I had fallen off the boat until I woke up the next morning. I woke up barely able to move and covered from my shoulders to my calfs in gigantic bruises; it was pretty sexy.
a little ethnic sprout
Um, do you see that? Do you SEE that??!!?? My purple basil is sprouting…all three seeds I might add. I’m not getting my hopes up, but I’m pretty darned excited. This, on top of the fact that I start picking my produce share from Teena’s Pride on Tuesday, makes me so excited to start cooking with some fresh veggies!
So, my day. My effing day, talk about a roller coaster. To start with, all day on Tuesday I thought it was Wednesday so when the real Wednesday came around I was effed. My brain had checked out and today should’ve been Friday, damnit. Nonetheless, I attempted to act like a big girl and NOT cancel my lunch date. Yes, lunch date—even after my coworker bestie invited me to a fun lunch.
I agreed to lunch near my office and while I knew he was physically not my type he seemed to be witty and have enough going on between his ears to get me interested. He even offered to pick me up, which was definitely a nice gesture. Before I get to the goods, you should know something…confession time! I’m an online dater. THERE! I said it, ugh.
Here is my theory on online dating: I am a normal, funny, smart, woman with my sh*t together, and some days I’m not even bad to look at, but I’m single and I have a hard time meeting nice/normal guys. I figured if someone like me is online dating then there must be someone of the like minded opposite sex doing the same. Right? Right. Right!?!? ::sigh::
Well, in my lengthy profile (which took me some time and consideration to complete) it clearly says I live in Miami and that I’m originally from the great state of Indiana. For those of you geographically challenged (you know who you are), Indiana is located in a part of the country called the midwest.