I'm Going Down

Believe it or not, I think things are finally taking a turn for the better in my love life.

And I'm READY.

The Journalist is coming to my place for dinner tomorrow night.

AND I just downloaded 100 Classic French Love Songs off iTunes.

BRINGING OUT THE BIG GUNS!

Simple Is Good

Simple is good:

Here's a brilliant dinner-on-the-fly, made-up-just-now, I-feel-kinda-genius pasta idea:

Roasted tomatoes (I got really ambitious and let mine roast for about 6 hours on super-low heat, like 200 degrees)

1 can Trader Joe's Corn and Chile Salsa

Macaroni

Freshly grated Parmesan

Olive oil, salt, and pepper

Cook the macaroni and drain, then drizzle with olive oil. Mix in roasted tomatoes, eyeballing it so the mix is about 2/3 macaroni to 1/3 roasted tomatoes. Add in about 4 tbsp salsa. Top with grated Parmesan. Congratulate yourself on your simplicity (and brilliance).

This is good. The tomatoes are smokey and a little sweet. The salsa is also sweet, and the corn adds a nice, slightly crunchy texture to the dish. The freshly grated Parmesan adds salty, savory, umami-quality. What's not to love? So simple!

Simple is good. True for food, perhaps even truer for love. I had forgotten how easy it is to be involved with someone when it's right...when you want the same thing, and it just so happens that thing is each other!

Bon Appetit!

Ain't Love Grand?

I can't stop thinking about the Journalist. It's like my brain has short-circuited and is playing on a loop. I alternate between feeling giddy and feeling worried as FUCK! However, I'm not worried about him not liking me, or being a jerk...instead, I'm worried about stuff like "How will we support our kids?".

Which is, obviously, not productive or reasonable at all given the fact that we just had our third date!

I'm a mess.

Losing my mind,

Foodie Gal

The Wonders of the Internet

Just found topless pics online of the Journalist's ex-girlfriend.

WHOA.

Sometimes you just don't want to know...ya know?

Clearly time to log off tonight.

THANK YOU, P90x

Dear P90x,

I never thought I'd be writing a thank-you note to an exercise program, much less one I've never tried myself. But if Date #3 last night with the Journalist taught me anything, it's the value of p90x. I. AM. A. CONVERT.

After patiently accompanying me to a marathon, 3 1/2 hour high school band concert, the Journalist and I had margaritas and Mexican food at Casa Vega. We chatted away amiably, covering everything from dating to death (really) and by the time we were done it was 1am. We went back to my place, and things got pretty hot and heavy. I was rearranging my bed sheets when I looked up and saw the Journalist, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and HOLY GOD, I CONFIRMED THAT I'M STRAIGHT. I mean, I've had moments of wondering if perhaps my love life wasn't working out due to some kind of latent lesbianism deep inside me...but that first moment of seeing the Journalist basically nude made me so, 100% certain that I'm straight. I mean, his body is a glorious sight to behold. He is long, lean, and perfectly ripped. It was astounding. I think I might have thanked God outloud. I mean, the guy looks like the fucking DAVID. WHAT A TURN-ON!

Anyway, he spent the night. He told me he likes me "a lot". We had breakfast in the morning. We made more plans. And we slept together, but only literally. It was a fantastic night, and I'm in for more.

Being single has become a way of life for me...I've been the swinging single girl for such a long time that it's hard to imagine being half of two. But when faced with someone as lovely, as kind, and as awesome as this Journalist fellow...I can begin to imagine.

And, at about 3am as we lay in the shadows, he did his best Liverpoolian accent, so I could imagine I was in bed with Paul McCartney. Amazing.

Stay tuned, this is going to be a good one. And thanks again, P90x. You done good.

Love,

Foodie Gal

A Beatle of My Own

I just returned from my second date with the Journalist, and I have a few observations to share:

1. He looks, weirdly, a little like Paul McCartney. He's a little bit funnier looking than ole Paul, but there is undeniable overlap. I think this can only be a good thing.

2. Though he is not gainfully employed at the moment (by choice), he is a wonderfully talented musician. In addition to having had a notable career as a journalist. Not bad.

3. I saw his house, which is neat and clean and rather cozy.

4. We made out when we said good-night, and he ever-so-slightly pulled my hair which bodes VERY well for chemistry between the sheets (what can I say--I love a guy who can take charge, can you blame me?).

And that, my friends, is the update. And to the Economist (who I still have not heard from AT ALL) I say, YOU SNOOZE YOU LOSE.

Unbelievable

Two words for you:

RADIO SILENCE.

No return phone call, no email, no explanation from the Economist.

Are you fucking kidding me?