Heartbreak and Hotsauce

I'm Going Down

2011-06-01T19:24:00.000-07:00

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

2011-05-31T20:28:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-05-29T20:24:00.001-07:00

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

2011-05-28T21:57:00.001-07:00

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

2011-05-28T21:11:00.000-07:00

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

2011-05-23T22:52:00.001-07:00

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

2011-05-23T12:37:00.001-07:00

Two words for you:

RADIO SILENCE.

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

Are you fucking kidding me?

STOOD THE FUCK UP

2011-05-22T18:21:00.000-07:00

Proving once again that if it seems too good to be true, it probably is...

I TOTALLY GOT STOOD UP TONIGHT!

I had a date with the Economist this evening that never happened...because he never called me. EPIC FAIL. After 3 weeks of build-up, this is what I get? LAME.

I'm seeing the Journalist again this coming week, so it's not like I'm left without options...but I was really looking forward to this, and this is a magnificently annoying way for it to go down. Apparently, this guy can run a major company AND the State of California, but he can't get it together to take me to dinner (after 3 weeks of anticipation!).

There have been epic failures before, but I think this is the most epic of them all.

SIGH.

Back in the Saddle Again

2011-05-19T09:33:00.000-07:00

Now that the Pinkeye Episode of 2011 is behind me, I had my first date in months this week. I met up with a journalist I met on Match for burgers and beer, and we had a nice time. He was cuter than his pictures (plus!) very smart and nice (double plus!) and he's a good kisser (plus again!). On the down side of things, he wants to take me for a ride on his motorcycle (yikes) and he doesn't really have a job right now (mehhhhhhhh). I seem to have a knack for finding guys in this town who are either under-employed or not employed at all. Remember the Splenda truck driver? Oh wait, I think that pre-dates this blog...point being, I dated a guy who drove a Splenda truck (part-time). And I don't even like Splenda. There have been some seriously low points along this journey.

Anyhoo, I'll see this under-employed journalist again, most likely, and I have my long-awaited date with the Economist on Sunday (who is neither under-employed nor unemployed). I am SO looking forward to that.

Up and up...

Epic Fail

2011-05-09T13:23:00.000-07:00

Waking up with pinkeye=no date tonight.

Arrrgghhhhh.

Mother's Day Mandate

2011-05-08T17:26:00.000-07:00

My mother:

"I really think you should make online dating a priority. Set aside 20 minutes every day and really make an effort. Also, this economist...he sounds busy. He will probably be too busy for you."

Thanks.

Wine Me and Dine Me

2011-05-08T16:16:00.000-07:00

My Hot Subletter left me two bottles of wine, one of which I drank with a friend a couple weeks ago, and the other of which has been occupying the bottom shelf of my fridge, a sweet and sad reminder of my piece of hot Russian beefcake who occupied my home and heart for 8 weeks. Siiiiigggghhh.

I decided to stop moping and break it open this afternoon when, after 3 days of solitary confinement due to being disgustingly sick (and having finished 88 episodes of "30 Rock"), I finally ventured back into the world of cooking. Inspired by a recipe for Spring Vegetable Pasta from a recent issue of Cook's Illustrated, I uncharacteristically decided to wing it and make some veggie pasta on the fly. This would not be particularly interesting if it weren't for the fact that instead of boiling the pasta in salted water, as one would expect, I decided to take the hint from Cook's and first toast the pasta in olive oil, then add my Hot Subletter's white wine, and finish cooking it in chicken broth. This was yielded a totally delightful and unexpected result--angel hair pasta, light and fluffy as a cloud, that is completely permeated with the flavor and aroma of white wine, with the savoriness of chicken broth. It is really delicious. Had I been making a heartier pasta (a penne, or something similar) I would've also had a nutty flavor from the toasting part...but the angel hair pasta (incidentally also left behind by my angel Hot Subletter) cooked so quickly that I missed out on that part. Oh well. That's for another time, I guess.

Then, I sauteed some garlic in olive oil, added some young asparagus from the Farmer's Market, some peas, red chile flakes, and lemon zest, and a lovely, simple but delicious pasta was born. I was totally off the grid--inspired by the recipe's suggestion of toasting and cooking the pasta in wine and broth--but followed my instincts alone on how to finish the dish. It yielded fantastic results, and I am just keeping my fingers crossed that I'll be able to trust my instincts so completely when it comes to my dating life, too...because I'm jumping back in the pool, as of tomorrow. My 6'6" Economist is taking me out for burgers tomorrow night...so let's keep our fingers crossed that he's as nice and normal as he sounds. A part of me is still hung up on my Hot Subletter (as if you couldn't tell) but just as I wasn't going to let that bottle of wine linger forever in my fridge, I can't leave myself on the shelf for too long, either. After all, if he wants me he's going to have to come and get me because damnit, I'm worth the trip!

Hey Dudes.

2011-05-03T17:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Match.com guys who are mad that I am not interested in you,

If you cannot spell "disappointed", we are DEFINITELY not meant to be. You can call me a bitch, but I'll just tell you to go spell-check yourself.

Thanks,

Average Dick

2011-05-02T21:37:00.000-07:00

I just read that apparently the average erect penis measures a little over 5 inches long.

I HAVE SEEN SOME SERIOUSLY ABOVE-AVERAGE DICKS IN MY LIFE THUS FAR!

Unfortunately, I think this means I may be cruising for some serious disappointment...because there are a lot of 5 inch dicks out there waiting to be discovered.

Let's just hope one is NOT attached to the 6'6" economist I'm gonna date! (Proportion would NOT be on his side).

This Ain't My First Rodeo

2011-05-01T23:14:00.001-07:00

You know you've been around the online dating block when you realize some guy on Match has "winked" at you...and you recognize him because you went out with him a year and a half ago when you were on eHarmony. Apparently we are still both single and looking. And apparently he doesn't remember me nearly as well as I remember him (he had a thing for knee socks, and I think he dressed up as a girl at one point in his childhood. These things stick with you).

On the upside of things, Match.com is potentially looking up quite a bit. For one, one of the foremost experts on economic forecasting wants to take me out. He's 6'6". He's the main economic advisor to a major state. I'm not kidding. He also regularly appears on CNN and MSNBC. Who knew! Equally exciting--this super cute British journalist who is...wait for it...LOOKING TO SETTLE DOWN (unicorn alert!) also wants a date with me. He's worked for the BBC. He runs marathons. And he is seriously adorable. How fabulously interesting (and EMPLOYED) are these guys?!? I feel like the belle of the ball. Here's hoping they are HALF as exciting as they seem to be in their profiles.

As for my friend with the knee socks...it didn't work out the first time, and I am guessing it's not going to work out the second time either. I think it's best to let sleeping dogs lie. Don't you think?

Who Are These Guys?

2011-04-28T11:21:00.000-07:00

And I quote:

"Just want to make love. My ideal match is someone who would be a tiger grrrr baby grrrr."

That's really nice and all, but REALLY?

Tip for Guys Who Online Date

2011-04-28T08:17:00.000-07:00

A profile picture of you wearing a balloon animal-hat is NOT appealing.

Mr. Santa

2011-04-27T18:31:00.000-07:00

ONLINE DATING IS THE BEST FODDER FOR BLOGGING!

It's been less than 24 hours and so far I've been hit up by a grandpa, a guy who self-refers as "Mr. Santa", and a penguin photographer.

Needless to say I am TOTALLY going out with the penguin photographer. The others...ehhhhh, not so much.

One phenomenon to track: the guys who seem to think Match is actually Craigslist Casual Encounters. To which I say, "NEIN." Sending me a message that just says "You look good. Lets [sic] get drink." is SO not working on me. It makes me feel like a piece of meat, and not a Grade A, organic, grass-fed filet minon. "Hello" and "how are you?" go a long way, fellas...word to the wise.

"There Are More Normal Guys on Match"

2011-04-26T22:15:00.000-07:00

Dear friends,

I have taken the plunge into the deep end. After another week's passing (another week that brings me closer to being dateless at my brother's wedding) I decided it was time to plunge into the cold, deep pool known as Match.com. I have no one to blame but myself for this bold move (and perhaps CJ, who managed to convince me that "There are more normal guys on Match.").

Whether she is correct about this remains to be seen. But I'm on, and I have committed to 3 months. The part of me that is ridiculously optimistic said "Oh, you don't need 6 months! Surely you'll have met someone before then!". (This is the part of me that has selective memory). The part of me that's a cold hard pragmatist said "Sister, you need every month you can get. Remember how you've done this twice before? Those little 3-month stints didn't do you much good, 'CAUSE YOU ARE BACK FOR MORE. Mwah, hah, hah."

Who did I listen to? Um, the optimist. Obviously. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, and it's alive and well in sunny LA.

I need to interject a little update here about my Hot Subletter...I *did* get a text from him a couple days ago declaring me "Best surrogate wife EVER" and "sweet" and "a badass", which of course I ate up like a molten chocolate cake. I mean, I can't get enough of hearing that (and "I miss you") from him. But he's still in New York, we're still not having a long-distance relationship, and online dating is KEEPING ME MOVING FORWARD. I feel like I could totally end up hanging up my hat for my Hot Subletter, and I need to put that off as long as possible. While his words give me a sugar high off this metaphorical molten chocolate cake, I need to wait to see if he can provide a whole meal, if ya know what I'm saying. So...prove it to me baby, and I'll take my profile off Match like a hot potato. But until that moment, I AM ON.

Wish me luck. There are already multiple freaks and geeks sending me messages. In the words of Liz Lemon, "Blargh."

Love,

Foodie Gal

Rancid Sugar, a Metaphor for My Love Life

2011-04-24T08:46:00.000-07:00

I baked some 1-2-3-4 cupcakes from the Joy of Cooking on Friday night for a friend's birthday, or at least I tried to bake them. Exhausted from a long day of teaching, I started the batter around 9pm, carefully bringing everything to room temperature, pre-heating the oven in plenty of time, and making sure I spooned the flour into the measuring cup instead of scooping (apparently this is how you're supposed to do it to achieve ultimate accuracy in flour measurement, if you don't own a scale.) I sifted dry ingredients, creamed butter and sugar, and was one step away from finishing the batter when I tasted it. And it tasted like METAL. Or chemicals. Or something, but it sure as hell did not taste like cupcake batter. And 1-2-3-4 batter is quite delicious; I've made it before with success. So what happened?

I retraced my steps, and since I was using new butter, eggs, and flour I checked the expiration dates on the other ingredients. Everything checked out, although the sugar was pretty old. I bought new sugar and tried again the next day (I am stubborn like a mule!) and voila! Delicious cupcakes. 1-2-3-4 batter involves whipping egg whites as the last step, and folding them into the creamy batter, creating a light and fluffy batter which turns into tender, buttery cake. I frosted them with 2-minute frosting from the back of the powdered sugar box. And they were a hit last night, if I do say so myself. All I can conclude is that the sugar, somehow, was rancid. It had turned suddenly while I wasn't looking. Which really, is a metaphor for my love life.

Remember the Ugly Sexy Guy from around this time last year? Well, he joined up with me and a few friends a couple weeks ago for a concert, unannounced...and it was terrible to see him again. It was super awkward, and I just didn't know what to do or say--I mean, the guy made this HUGE play for me, asked me out to dinner no less than 3 times, and then never called. Then he went on to date some 22-year-old coffee barista. And apparently after that he hooked up with my friend (who, incidentally, was present when we all went to the concert.) All I can say is YUCK. It makes me feel cheap, it's embarrassing, and frankly the guy is FUGLY. How is he getting so much action? He's unemployed and unattractive! I pretty much never want to see him again, if I can help it. So there's the metaphorical sugar that turned rancid...I highly recommend avoiding it at all costs, if you can.

But back to baking, where things can be fixed much more easily than in life. For anyone interested in baking these legendary 1-2-3-4 cupcakes, here's the recipe for the cake batter. Goes great with vanilla buttercream frosting, or chocolate cinnamon (which I prefer, obviously...give me a little flava any day!)

http://www.cooks.com/rec/view/0,176,135178-243192,00.html

Moral of the story: Careful with Your Sugar.

Love,

The Skinny

2011-04-17T22:51:00.001-07:00

It's zucchini time once more at the farmer's market, and the old diet standby, zucchini ribbon "pasta" is back in effect. Tossed with a little basil pesto and lemon, raw zucchini starts to become very, very delicious. I'm a happy pseudo-dieter, at least for now. So that's the "Getting Skinny" skinny.

The other skinny for today is the skinny on my Hot Hot Subletter. All I can say is, it must be Christmas. Because I'd been hoping, hoping, hoping (fingers crossed, holding my breath kinda hoping) that he would miss me, even a little, once he was back home in NYC. And sure enough, he emailed me this morning (totally unprompted) that he misses ME! HE MISSES ME!!! I know this shouldn't be a big deal, but he's not a big talker and this is HUGE for him to tell me. So maybe he's NOT "not that into me"! Maybe he LIKES me! He definitely MISSES me, and MISSES me enough to tell me so!

As you can tell, I am having a terrible time reacting to this coolly. Tempering my responses to exciting news has never been a strong suit of mine. And I've been working on a new online dating profile for days...but I feel like my heart's really not in it. I know I should do it, and I know this revelation doesn't fundamentally change ANYTHING, but...it's just nice to know that he does actually miss me. And maybe it sets me back a little in terms of moving on...but so be it.

So there's the skinny. What's next? Who can tell!

Desert Facials and Weight Gain

2011-04-11T19:49:00.000-07:00

I just returned from a couple days in Palm Springs. I spent most of the time at the Ace Hotel drinking a cocktail called the Desert Facial, which was, sadly, not as exciting as it sounds. I also came back a full 2 lbs heavier than when I left (also not as exciting as it sounds.) Apparently, too many Desert Facials can make a girl gain weight. Go figure.

In light of this recent, unpleasant discovery (which is made all the worse by the voice in my head that's going "I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU ARE THE TYPE OF LA GIRL THAT BLOGS ABOUT GAINING TWO POUNDS. YOU FUCKING IDIOT.") I decided to go back to my LA-style clean living. Case in point: dinner two nights ago was red quinoa and swiss chard (which was actually shockingly tasty) and dinner last night? Zucchini, toasted walnuts, garlic and a little farfarelle with blue cheese (I haven't lost my taste entirely in this quest for svelteness--that's the good news.) I'm back in business. And since I haven't been imbibing any Desert Facials recently (of either variety) I should be ok.

But speaking of the other kind of Desert Facial...it's time to get back to dating. I'm holding my breath and diving back into the deep end, so I imagine you can expect a lot more postings in the near future. I was a virtual monk while I was away, and I am READY TO RUMBLE. CJ has convinced me that there are more "normal" guys on Match.com, so I'll be putting a profile together in the next few days. Stay tuned...this is SURE to be interesting.

Love and Desert Facials all around,

Six-Word Ending and My Response

2011-03-18T08:51:00.000-07:00

Things have totally unexpected gotten completely weird with my Hot Subletter. My conclusion? Six words:

"He's just not that into me."

(Sigh.)

My response:

"As always, confused. Will it change?"

"Undercover optimist. Bitten in the ass."

"Shit, this hurts. I'm still surprised."

I'm really loving this game. I highly suggest you try this at home.

Six-Word Love Stories

2011-03-05T22:01:00.003-08:00

I'm obsessed with the Six-Word Love Stories featured in the NY Times. Some favorites:

"Love hurts. Choose vodka or valium."

"Your new wife is too friendly."

"Warning, love: I blog my breakups."

So I'm thinking that I should start challenging myself to use six words to describe my adventures, catastrophic and otherwise. Here's a start:

For my most recent disappointment--Hot, Hot Yoga Guy:

"Failed to show, decided to go."

"Pretty only takes him so far."

"Second place doesn't fuck prom queen."

For Chazz:

"Stand up, step up, show up."

"Big dick, small heart, I found."

"Selfish dude--never again, I say."

For the polyamorous Harvard Writer:

"Dried condom on bedside. Not mine."

"Gave great head. He had practice."

"Never fucked him. Too hard, sad."

And on a more uplifting note...

For my Hot Subletter:

"When he calls, I actually sweat."

"Hot and kind. Best combo ever."

"Brags to his mom about me."

2011-03-05T22:01:00.001-08:00

A Cock, A Cocktail, and A Nap

2011-03-02T19:38:00.000-08:00

My mother just informed me that her friend Mary's DOCTOR son (and DOCTOR wife) just had their SECOND baby. The doctor couple's older son is apparently a math PRODIGY (obviously.) They are the PERFECT family.

My response was that hearing about their children made me want a cocktail and a nap.

I didn't tell her that hearing about the two babies actually made me want a COCK, a cocktail, and a nap. Not necessarily in that order.

The Show Diet

2011-03-01T08:00:00.000-08:00

I'm trying really hard to feed myself well, but lightly, right now...we're headed into tech week for my play, and it's gonna be a long one. So I'm heavily favoring miso soup, oatmeal, and...quinoa. Yup, I've found a way to make it palatable for me. Once it's cooked, I add raisins, dried cranberries, dried blueberries, lemon, parsley, and olive oil. I have also roasted some lovely cauliflower and voila! A nice, light meal that won't weigh you down when you're running around onstage for 2 hours. Also on the docket...hard boiled eggs (and possibly egg salad, while I'm at it.) These are the moments when I'm glad not to be cooking for anyone else...because who else really wants to live on quinoa and hard boiled eggs? Definitely no man...so it's lucky that I'm sequestered away like a little monk, doing this play and eating my quinoa. The only man who's in the picture is my Hot Subletter/Houseboy, who is 3,000 miles away, collecting my mail and cuddling with my cat. Does it get better than that?

Cleaning House

2011-02-23T07:52:00.000-08:00

I'm cleaning house. Spring is upon us, and I have no time for drama. Actually, I have a lot of time for drama, but only the kind onstage.

First and foremost, I ended it with my Hot Yoga Guy. It was a long time coming (it took me a month to do it) but I finally was like "dude...this has been fun, but we should just be friends." It was received relatively well. He did not seem relieved (as I had feared) but was fairly understanding about it, though full of excuses about his most recent absence. And the excuse "I've been really busy" doesn't particularly fly with me when I know damn well you don't actually have a job. He's still hot, but in the course of the last 3 months I have realized that being hot, though nice, does not take you very far with me if you are still about as mature as a 13-year-old. So that's that.

Second, I got a "Hi! Just checking in to see what you're up to!" email from the Triathlete. Yes, that's right. After that last disastrous dinner (my parting line to him was "Fuck off") he's BACK. I'm not returning his email...because I don't have time for him, or his bullshit. Resolution for 2011: only date guys who are nice to you. I think that's fair, don't you?

Anyhoo, my Hot Subletter and I are still having a passionate long-distance romance. He calls me and leaves me voicemails that start "Hi, it's your husband" and almost inevitably I break a sweat when I hear his voice. He is kind and caring and reliable and hot. I have no idea what happens upon my return in April, but I'm up for an adventure. This could be the start of something good (I am such an optimist. A fucking cockeyed optimist.)

More soon!

Simply The Best

2011-02-19T07:16:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite things is waking up to an email from my Hot Subletter with a picture of him and my cat attached. He does this on a semi-regular basis, and it starts my day in the absolute best way. In the words of Tina Turner, he's simply the best.

Does this mean we're destined to be together? Who knows. But honestly, it's just nice to meet a guy who's a grown-up...ya know? A stable, generous, grounded soul who likes to keep in touch.

Does it get better than that?

Spread Me on Toast

2011-02-10T19:16:00.000-08:00

My food situation in Baltimore is made all the more glaring by the fact that my Hot Subletter took me to one of the best meals of my life the night before I left LA. We went to Pizzeria Mozza and had the Caprese Salad (burrata, oven-roasted tomatoes, and pesto) which we spread onto garlic-rubbed, olive-oiled rustic bread. Then we split an artichoke pizza and wrapped it all up with the Butterscotch Budino, which is a pudding so delectable is should seriously be outlawed. It's like liquid crack. I am concerned nothing will ever taste that good ever again. Actually, I'm a little worried that between the food and the company, the highlight of my life might have already come and gone.

You see, my Hot Subletter is pretty much everything a girl could ask for. I'm serious, people. He's sexy and strong and super masculine, but also incredibly sensitive, intuitive, and caring. He could've spread ME on a piece of bread by the end of the meal...he's just the total package. And I'm not sure what to do, because he doesn't actually live in LA...which is why he's living in my apartment while I'm not there (life is so cruel sometimes.) It's brutal, 'cause all I want is more TIME with him. I'm trying not to get too hung up on him, but I'm not doing a very good job of it. As you can probably tell!

A New Challenge

2011-02-10T18:58:00.000-08:00

Dear friends,

I have arrived at my new digs (for the next 8 weeks) and I am presented with a whole host of new challenges. Food-related challenges. Here they are:

1. I am entirely at the mercy of the once-a-week grocery run to a place called SuperFresh, which, from my visit last night, is neither super nor fresh. It's big, I supposed, but a sadder produce section has rarely seen the light of day. I kept wandering around wondering, "Where the hell is the organic section?" And then I realized. There *is* no organic section. I've become THAT person who lives in LA and demands organic produce in the middle of Baltimore where, apparently, organic produce has not yet become the norm. Initially I was annoyed, then I was terribly self-conscious because I'm THAT LA ACTRESS, and then I thought...fuck it. This is why much of America is obese...because even I considered buying Pop-Tarts at SuperFresh, because it is erroneously named and the produce is nasty.

2. I have, almost literally, nothing in my kitchen. I had to buy everything last night at 10pm when I was jet-lagged and out of it, so I found myself wandering the aisles of the aforementioned SuperFresh wondering what the hell to do with my (non-organic) produce and other goods. So here's what I have:

5 lbs russet potatoes

2 bags of spinach

broccoli

a wedge of really good Parmesan

pasta

lemon

garlic

onions

frozen spinach pancakes (I love these)

eggs

breakfast stuff: fruit, yogurt, two bagels

pomegranate juice and seltzer

So far, I've had two meals of spinach pancakes (like latkes, except made with spinach) and a fried egg, one meal of a baked potato with spinach, lemon, and horseradish sauce, half a bagel and some yogurt, and some fruit. This food is supposed to last me a week, and I have to be honest--aside from some mashed potatoes and homefries, I am rapidly running out of ideas for my limited supplies. And it's only the first day.

3. My kitchen is appointed sparely...only the most basic pans and other necessities. There will be no pureeing of anything, and certainly no braising. Also, I have an electric stove (yikes.) I need to get creative...and fast!

Your intrepid food adventurer,

A Penis in My Panties

2011-01-31T20:20:00.001-08:00

Have you ever been with a man who wants to put on your panties?

I'm just asking. I think he's kidding. Oh my god, I hope he's kidding.

True Playa

2011-01-29T21:46:00.000-08:00

After a ridiculously romantic afternoon at the Getty, I made out with my hot subletter like the apocalypse was imminent. But we were cut short 'cause I had to go to a friend's place for dinner. 10 minutes of fast and furious making out...oh, how I love dating. I'll keep it real: I want him like nobody's business. Things are about to get crazy. Stay tuned.

And yes, I'm still seeing the other guy...who happens to be out of town for a wedding this weekend. Since we're not exclusive, I am totally in the clear. I'm just a true playa, that's all.

I'm So Excited That I Just Can't Hide It

2011-01-28T11:58:00.001-08:00

Lord have mercy, I am going on a semi-date this afternoon with my hot subletter. We're going to the most beautiful museum in Los Angeles to see a photo exhibit. I am ridiculously nervous and excited. If I don't melt into a pool of butter during this date, it will be a small miracle. And I won't be melting due to the sunny hot weather...I'll be melting due to the white-hot heat being given off by this dude. I feel like I'm losing my mind, but I kind of like it.

"I'm so excited. That I just can't hide it. I'm about to lose control, and I think I like it."

Thank you, 1985, for supplying the perfect words for the occassion.

Turning Me Into Jelly

2011-01-25T23:21:00.001-08:00

During the course of the day, I heard from one additional ex-boyfriend via email (bringing the total to 4), and had a string of exchanges with my hot subletter. I am getting that weird, fluttery, shaky feeling in my chest when I read his messages, which are perfectly laced with subtle and not-so-subtle overtures. I'm turning into jelly every time I see he's written me. He's making me very hot, and very nervous. Why is this happening now? Is this flirtation a terrible idea? Does that even matter?

And the final question:

Why, oh why, will this man be sleeping in my bed when I'm not in it?

It's Raining Men

2011-01-25T16:03:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning to three emails: one from my hot subletter, one from the guy I'm currently dating, and one from an ex-boyfriend.

My hot subletter wrote me a lovely email thanking me for dinner, and for my "intriguing energy." He's also taken to signing the emails "Your Husband." I showed my girlfriend a pic of him, and she just said..."WOW." And she meant that like, ME-OW.

It's raining men. And I think I like it.

I'll Be Your House Husband

2011-01-24T23:14:00.000-08:00

Proving that the last post's recipe is magical, my hot subletter tasted the chicken tonight and then proposed that he continue to live at my place indefinitely after I return. His exact words? "I'll be your house husband."

My chicken has garnered marriage proposals three times now. Clearly, I am onto something.

Seduce-Your-Subletter Chicken

2011-01-23T22:25:00.000-08:00

It's 10:30pm, and I'm slaving away over a gorgeous, unbelievably delicious braised chicken dinner which I will, tomorrow night, serve to a man I have never met. But who will be sleeping in my bed in the near future. No, this is not a smutty romance novel. And yes, it's actually true. I'm leaving town soon to do a play on the other coast, and this random, sexy, friend-of-a-friend will be staying at my place. So really, I'm cooking dinner for my subletter, but the dinner's turning out to be so good, it's more like I'm trying to seduce him. Which maybe I am. I mean, crazier things have happened.

(Is that the sound of me getting my groove back? Um, yes, I think it is.)

Throw in the fact that I slept about 4 hours last night at a house that's not mine and...wow. Delirium. As I said...me...groove...back. Welcome back, groove. I've missed you so.

Ahem. So here's the recipe. It's so worth it, whether you're trying to seduce your man or just your subletter.

http://www.cookstr.com/recipes/braised-chicken-with-saffron-onions-italian-couscous-and-dates

Hipster Musician Combover

2011-01-23T12:56:00.000-08:00

I just ran into The Musician at my local farmer's market...I saw him from behind, but he didn't see me (whew.) So, how did I identify him if I only saw him from behind, at a distance? I recognized his particular male-pattern baldness. A very specific, blonde, baby-fine, hipster-musician combover.

I only wish I were kidding.

Panda Porn

2011-01-14T22:06:00.001-08:00

My last post reminded me of an article I read a while back about how pandas in captivity lose interest in sex and have to be, ahem, warmed up (so to speak) by "panda porn" before they can actually get it done (does that mean the video's a panda fluffer? I think so.)

Here's the article:

http://edition.cnn.com/2006/WORLD/asiapcf/01/25/panda.passion/index.html

Needless to say, this revelation is not making the argument for monogamy--er, I mean, captivity--any more convincing.

Did I mention that I was the recipient of red satin panties on my birthday? Ones that read "UNCOMMITTED" across the ass? Well, I was.

Like a Mare in Heat

2011-01-14T21:59:00.000-08:00

I have a major conundrum on my hands, one that was bound to surface eventually: the guy I've been seeing is intensely private, and he would FLIP HIS LID if he knew I'm blogging about him. So while I figure out what the heck to do, I need to put blogging about my love life on hold (this is lame, I know, but I seriously don't know what to do.)

Instead, to momentarily pacify you, here's a fantastic article about a race horse who is about to be bred. While it's not a human's love life, the similarities are startling (I especially like how the breeders trot out resident stud Capone every morning to keep the mares interested in sex...is that the horse equivalent of a Brad Pitt movie?)

Enjoy!

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/14/sports/14horse.html

Damn, Those Are Tasty Balls

2010-12-08T22:57:00.000-08:00

I think it's fair to say that anything that tastes like dessert *and* gets you drunk is a very good addition to the holiday season.

To prove my point:

http://southernfood.about.com/od/bourbonballs/r/bl81212f.htm

I just made a batch of these yummy, boozy, bourbon balls. They are super easy and really delish.

I tasted them, and I was like "DAMN, those are some tasty balls!"

And let's be frank...the more often I can say that, the better.

Butter Me Up

2010-12-06T08:36:00.000-08:00

Dear friends,

I had a culinary epiphany this weekend:

Hot Buttered Rum is damn good. It's like dessert in a mug. Everyone should experience Hot Buttered Rum this holiday season, preferably followed by a hot buttered roll in the hay. But I digress.

Here's a recipe which approximates what I drank this weekend:

http://cocktails.about.com/od/atozcocktailrecipes/r/ht_btrd_rum_ckt.htm

You can tweak it to your liking (obviously) but basically--who doesn't like butter, brown sugar, and rum? It's a recipe for success, as far as I am concerned.

Happy holidays! May your days be buttered and bright...

xoxo

Foodie Gal

Keep It Hot

2010-12-05T00:01:00.000-08:00

So, my culinary adventure for this evening was making an Eggplant Timbale, a savory Italian pie with an eggplant "crust" and a spaghetti bolognese filling. All the individual components were awesome, but by the time it was eaten (in a pie competition) the whole thing was cold...NOT ideal for this dish, I came to discover. Needless to say, it did not win--I think it could have won, had it been hot, but that's neither here nor there. The moral of the story is, KEEP IT HOT. Turns out this is applicable not only in pie competitions but in love as well.

The love component was brought to mind this weekend when I attended the opening night of my ex-boyfriend's feature film. He's garnered critical acclaim for writing this movie, and he's virtually sky-rocketed onto the Hollywood scene. I'm really, genuinely happy for him. But sitting in the darkened theater, I began to reflect back on the end of our relationship. I remembered how I felt like I was suffocating, and how I didn't appreciate so many things about him. Would KEEPING IT HOT have saved our relationship? Probably not. But it might have given both of us enough of a connection to each other to actually take a break from the momentum of our lives and take each other in.

There are so many things I will do differently next time around, whenever that may be. And as a girlfriend of mine said, "I don't know what he'll be like...but I know he'll be extraordinary."

So here I am, Mr. Extraordinary. Waiting for you...come find me when you're ready, too!

Pear Gingerbread Upside Down Cake

2010-12-04T23:47:00.000-08:00

For those of you who are still wondering, "Was Thanksgiving dessert an epic failure?", here is the recipe that saved the day:

http://www.dhccare.com/dhc/FineFoods/recipes/Gingerbreadcake.aspx

If you are asking yourself, "Is this recipe from an olive-oil-based skincare line?" the answer is YES.

If you are asking yourself, "Could this cake possibly be any good?" the answer is YES.

If you are asking yourself, "Did this Thanksgiving dessert debacle nearly cause Foodie Gal to lose her damn mind?" the answer is also YES.

But at the end of the day, it was all good, because the DHC skincare line not only takes care of my wrinkles and sunspots, but apparently it takes care of Thanksgiving dessert as well. Now THAT, my friends, is a skincare line that multi-tasks!

My Flan Fails and I'm Losing My Mind

2010-11-24T18:59:00.000-08:00

First off, I have baked not one but two Sweet Potato Flans today and I'm losing my mind. I cannot get it to turn out right. I have NEVER had a problem with this recipe when I cook in LA. But now I'm in Boston, and all hell's breaking loose in the kitchen. Damnit.

Now it's 10pm and I'm trying to figure out if I can bake a pecan pie tomorrow. Because my grandmother's coming over and I CANNOT FAIL IN FRONT OF HER (someone get my therapist on speed dial, please). And welcome to the holidays...ho, ho, ho and fuck me in the ear.

Not only did the flan fail, but the whale appeared yesterday (just after I blogged about him being a turkey. Do they have a sixth sense for this kind of thing? I think so). He wrote me a long, philosophical email about the nature of familial relationships. What? Yes. No "hi, how are you, sorry I bailed on plans with you, etc etc etc." No, instead I got a diatribe on parent-child relations. HE IS SO WEIRD. I didn't respond because...ummm, I have nothing to say. Had this email come on the heels of a conversation about all this, it would have been very nice and thoughtful. Since it came TOTALLY OUT OF THE BLUE it's just weird. And while I know he hates small talk, a little "hey, how are you?" would have gone a long way with me.

GRRRRRRR. Roast the fucking turkey, 'cause I am just NOT in the mood.

Sending Turkey Love Your Way

2010-11-22T20:23:00.000-08:00

I just emailed some girlfriends, and I used this phrase in a completely non-dating context...

But it somehow seems apt to describe this moment in time in my love life.

For you see, friends, HHYG has disappeared. I'm not overly upset about it--he's clearly not my guy--but you can see how the phrase "sending turkey love your way" reminds me of him. Initiating plans and then disappearing is behaving like a fucking TURKEY. And turkeys are not nice, smart, or cool animals.

Note to future suitors: don't get all up in my grill unless you mean it, or you're actually grilling (har, har.) I don't want No Scrubs, No More Drama, and YOU MUST NOT KNOW 'BOUT ME--I'LL HAVE ANOTHER "YOU" IN A MINUTE (thank goodness for divas, because they really sum it up for me sometimes). Seriously--if ya like it, you should put a ring on it (what would I do without Beyonce? I mean, really).

Another year, another turkey day.

Kinda Like a Whale Watch

2010-11-15T23:44:00.000-08:00

For those of you who are on HOT, HOT, Yoga Guy watch (my version of a whale watch...waiting with baited breath for the elusive HHYG to surface!) HE HAS REAPPEARED. And he wants to see me in the next few days...so we'll see if 1) he actually manages to meet up with me this time and 2) which side of things I fall on after this date...the smitten kitten side of things, or the irritated, pragmatic, almost 33-year-old "what the fuck am I doing with this clown?" side of things.

Obviously, these are two very, VERY different states of mind.

But having just poured a lot of energy (24 hours of chicken preparation/cooking, not to mention an hour of "OH GOD!") into someone else...I feel a lot more ready to roll with it. HHYG may be hot and charming, but he ain't the only horse in the stable...

The Chicken Comes First

2010-11-15T23:29:00.000-08:00

I gotta say...I think I'm getting better with age.

I *worked out* that Braised Chicken with Saffron Onion and Date Relish...my GOD, that was exceptional. The saffron flavor of the onion was delicate and intriguing, the chicken was fall-off-the-bone tender, and the date relish was perfectly sweet and acidic. I sauced the whole thing generously with gravy, and served it with the 4-grain mix from TJ's and some green beans from the Old Well's freezer (dressed up in olive oil, salt, and lemon juice). It really could not have been better. Thanks to Suzanne Goin, the recipe's author, I think I've officially topped myself. Not bad for a Monday night.

As if dinner didn't already make me the single coolest woman he's ever met, I finished the night by having an earth-shattering roll in the hay with the Old Well. Is it age? Am I arriving at my sexual peak? Who knows. But as a wise person once said, never look a gift orgasm in the mouth...ok, fine, I made that up...but you get the point. All I know is, the chicken came first and I came second this evening, but I was just fine with that. Then I rolled out, drove myself home, and ate a popsicle.

All in a day's work...

Lucky Dog

2010-11-14T18:07:00.000-08:00

Another detail...I was at Trader Joe's because I'm making Braised Chicken with Saffron Onions and Dates for dinner tomorrow night. Who's the lucky guy? The Old Well. Sometimes, you need a trusty old well to...ahem...take care of the drought. If ya know what I mean.

He's a lucky dog...dinner AND dessert. Happily, I think he knows it. And if he doesn't, there's an 88 year old in the neighborhood who would be happy to take his place.

Best Trader Joe's Trip Ever

2010-11-14T17:59:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the Universe speaks to you. And today, the Universe decided to give me an ego-boost while I was at Trader Joe's. I was perusing the produce, minding my own business, when the following exchange happened:

Old man: YOUNG LADY!

Me: Um, yes?

Old man: YOU ARE VERY BEAUTIFUL.

Me: Oh, that's so nice of you to say. Thank you.

Old man: I'm 88 years old. I tell the truth. Back when I was younger I wouldn't have said anything. But now I'm 88. I don't care. And you are very beautiful.

Me: Aw, thank you.

Old man: I do have CRS, though.

Me: CRS?

Old man: Yeah. Can't Remember Shit.

As if that exchange wasn't amazing enough, I was checking out with my groceries when the cashier came across the bouquet of pink roses. He said "I just don't get it...you're buying flowers for yourself? I mean, that just ain't right. YOU should not have to buy your own flowers."

So there ya go. There's a lot of love for me at Trader Joe's. And I hear ya, Universe...I am appreciating all the adoration that comes my way. I hear ya, loud and clear.

Catnip or Kryptonite

2010-11-12T16:18:00.000-08:00

Every woman has a type, and mine can best be described as follows:

Ivy league. Screenwriter.

That's my catnip. Or my kryptonite, depending on how you look at it.

Quinoa and Uncertainty

2010-11-11T21:47:00.000-08:00

My dinner tonight reflected a turn of events that could be called spartan, for sure.

Quinoa. Scrambled eggs and zucchini. Aloe juice mixed with blueberry-pom (yuck). The one nod to decadence was that I added a pat of butter to my cooked quinoa. I may be cutting back, folks, but I ain't dead yet.

It was a conscious choice to make a super healthy dinner...I've had two canker sores in the last week, and I've been generally exhausted and pretty much running on empty. I obviously need to take a break, and take care of myself so...welcome to my new life of buttered quinoa and twice-daily meditation. Frankly, the jury is out on the quinoa--if it weren't so healthy I for SURE wouldn't eat it--but the meditation is doing me a lot of good.

As for the HHYG...he's on the back burner, at least until next week. He's busy, I'm busy, and I need a little space. I was pretty peeved when I wrote that last posting, and I'm not peeved at all anymore...I'm just not sure. I ran across a major article in the Hollywood Reporter about my ex, and there's nothing like that to make you question your investment in your current guy...it just brought up all these feelings, all this wondering, all this...uncertainty.

But as a wise friend said to me, "Life isn't about a snapshot in time". I could very well change my mind tomorrow, and despite all my ex's successes (and there are many!) I don't actually regret our break-up. I mean, I've lived a whole other lifetime since I've been single...just look at all these postings! So much fun, so much hope, so many good meals, and yes, so much heartbreak. But there's always heartbreak until you meet the right one...and when that time comes, I'll re-name this blog. As for what the new title will be...only time will tell.

Ms. Irked, Meet Mr. Not-Irked-At-All

2010-11-09T22:35:00.000-08:00

Tonight, HOT, HOT, Yoga Guy and I had plans to see Marianne Williamson speak at her weekly Tuesday night lecture. I was very excited. I brought along a friend. I was looking forward to introducing my friend to HOT, HOT Yoga Guy (I trust this friend's judgment implicitly, and I knew my friend would have a lot to say one way or another).

Except it never happened. Because we never met up with HHYG. Because it was an audience of 300 people, and I texted him to find out where he was, and he didn't respond...because he left his phone in his car. Now, who leaves their phone in their car when they KNOW they are meeting up with someone inside a crowded auditorium? That's right. HOT, HOT Yoga Guy. So I spent an hour and a half thinking he stood me up and feeling irked about it, and he spent an hour and a half scanning the masses for me and wondering why I didn't show (not irked at all, btw).

I found all this out, because after the lecture was over, he waited for me until everyone left, and then finally checked his phone back in his car. Then he called (this is a big deal. Obviously this situation merits a phone call, but still. We had a good half-hour phone conversation at this point, which I am sure pained him).

When are we hanging out again? Who knows. His cousins are in town this weekend, so that's out. It would be delightful to actually see him in the flesh, but it's looking like that won't happen anytime soon. The whole thing's pretty annoying...so four man plan it is. I'm not sure that tonight doesn't count as showing up for me...I mean, he tried...but if he can't find time in his schedule to see me, it's out with HHYG and in with...well, someone who does make time. He's so freakin' complicated that it might just be ok.

Again, I Love My Friends

2010-11-09T22:33:00.000-08:00

One notable response to my last post about Mr. Lead Guitarist:

"SITUATION LUKEWARM...kind of like teal."

Amazing.

Mr. Lead Guitarist of Total Hotness

2010-11-06T01:18:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I met a 6'3" guy who strongly resembles Jake Gyllenhaal. He's the lead singer and guitarist of a band I will call "Total Hotness" (that's not the exact name, but let's just say it's close). I don't think that band name is tongue in cheek, which is unfortunate. I am pretty sure he lives with his parents. I am not as sure he graduated from high school. But since it's the season of saying yes, and apparently hot guys are dropping out of the sky and into my lap, I said yes when he asked for my number. And I said yes again when he suggested drinks. (Do we think he's going to invite me back to his parents' house??)

As I write this, I am having second thoughts about having drinks with this guy. I mean, he sees no humor whatsoever in his band name. And I ran out of things to say just at the party. However, he has two things going for him: 1) he is blindingly beautiful and 2) it's the fucking four man plan, and I am committed. I've only officially had 3 dates with my HOT, HOT Yoga Guy. I must keep the door open. However, I gotta say...my heart was not in it tonight. Mr. Lead Guitarist was about as pretty as they come--maybe even prettier than HOT, HOT Yoga Guy (shocking, I know) but I wasn't particularly buying what he was selling. I mean, yes, the man is now in possession of my digits...but I kinda think I need this situation like I need a hole in my head. Ya know?

My Goose is Cooked

2010-11-04T06:18:00.000-07:00

Not really. I mean, maybe metaphorically, but there is no literal goose.

However, my roast chicken is pretty fantastic, and I was reminded of that as I ravenously ate the leftovers last night. An "oh, shit" moment while I was prepping the chicken actually led to a nice variation...I ran out of black pepper as I was seasoning the raw bird...and I was too lazy to run out to get more (and my oven was ready to go). But HOT, HOT Yoga Guy loves a little spice, so I substituted in a conservative amount of cayenne pepper. I mixed it in with the salt, and it gave the bird just enough kick to add a subtle heat to dinner.

Or maybe that was the chemistry between us...

Anyway, the veggies were caramelized and perfect, the four-grain blend from Trader Joe's was autumnal and lovely, and the chicken--well, the chicken was off the hook. Juicy, crispy, and totally flavorful. And easy!

And perhaps most awesome...as I served dinner and we sat down at my little white kitchen table, he said to me "I just want to take a moment to express my gratitude to you...and the universe...but mostly you, for the energy and work you put into this dinner, and for being so awesome."

He's So Hot, He Keeps Me Up at Night

2010-11-04T06:12:00.000-07:00

One of the side effects of being involved with my HOT, HOT Yoga Guy is that I wake up at 4:20am and can't go back to sleep.

Sometimes, it's because he's super hot and he gives me anxiety dreams (sad but true).

Do you like how those two things are related? It's not like I said "He's super hot and I wake up in the middle of the night because I'm so turned on thinking about him." No, sometimes I wake up because I'm having anxiety about how hot he is, and sometimes I wake up because I'm so excited about him.

Basically, if this keeps up, I am looking at a future of insomnia.

Oh! Darling

2010-11-03T03:14:00.000-07:00

One more thing...perhaps the best moment of the night was the moment when "Oh! Darling" came on my ipod. It was the best 3 minutes 30 seconds of my life. HOT, HOT Yoga Guy pushed aside my recycling and threw me up against my kitchen wall. We made out like the apocalypse was upon us. It was insane, and when I say that I mean it may take me weeks to recover...I think my knees are permanently turned to jelly. I will never listen to that song the same way again.

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

2010-11-03T02:59:00.000-07:00

It's 3am. My HOT, HOT Yoga Guy just left and...I'm smitten, you guys. I'm in trouble. I am one smitten kitten.

We had such a good night--late dinner (roast chicken was a hit, per usual), followed by excellent conversation, followed by crazy, passionate making out for HOURS. It was so easy. It felt so right. It was so freakin' GOOD.

He was much more relaxed than he had been on our second date, and very, very kind and generous. And that was pretty much it, folks--I was a goner. I mean, stick a fork in me--I'm done. My powers of resistance are fading fast. This man who is nothing I had imagined for myself--this handsome, creative, soul--has appeared, and as tempted as I am to fight it, I'm not going to put up my defenses...'cause I think it's time to go in headfirst. These may be famous last words, but who cares? What do I have to lose?

In the words of Rodgers and Hart, I am seriously bewitched, bothered, and bewildered.

Gilding the Lily

2010-10-31T22:44:00.001-07:00

Also, I think I'm cooking dinner for our date on Tuesday night...I'm bringing out the big guns...roast chicken & vegetables it is!

Part of me thinks I'm a little insane to do this (I feel fairly certain he already likes me--he, the phone-phobic, called me three times last week to talk). It seems a little like gilding the lily. Or in modern terms, bedazzling the va-jay-jay. Why mess with perfection? But I'm feeling the urge to cook, so I'm gonna do it. I think I need to stop thinking too much about this whole situation, and just enjoy. Because GOD, there is a lot to enjoy...if I just let myself...and really, what do I have to lose? A couple hours of my life and a good chicken? Many a lesser man has consumed my delicious chicken...double entendre fully intended.

SCRAMBLED

2010-10-31T21:56:00.000-07:00

Tonight, in the midst of scrambling together some veggies, rice, and leftover Panda Express chicken, I thought, "GOD, my brain feels like this scramble." Because truly, my friends, this weekend was a real emotional scramble for me. And both my dinner and my weekend had a dose of hotsauce mixed in, so I am finally living up to my name.

Let me start off by saying that I am totally phobic about introducing the men I date to my friends. There are several reasons for this: 1) I once had a friend who was always trying to steal my boyfriends out from under my nose (cue Dar Williams "I Will Not Be Afraid of Women") and 2) in the past, I have often had a sinking feeling that I was continually dating down, which kept me from wanting to make introductions (does anyone REALLY want to introduce their balding, 38-year-old, unemployed non-boyfriend to their awesome, successful, smart friends? Or bring over the guy who's into group sex? I mean, what if he suggests swinging with my couple friends? It's a legitimate fear.) And 3) part of this is a control issue, that's for sure--I only want to introduce my guy to my friends when I'm sure of what's going on between him and me! Also, 4) my friends are smart people who love me a lot, so they have high standards...and rightfully so. They ain't the easiest of crowds. They have been known to throw more than one metaphorical rotten tomato at a potential suitor. So basically, before any man runs that gamut, I want to be sure he'll be around for a while. I am pretty adamant about this.

But as always, the best laid plans...

I was all costumed-up as Chairman Meow on Saturday night (my favorite Halloween costume of all time--sexy and smart, all in one!) and ready to do some Halloween party-hopping in Silverlake. Along with the aforementioned friends (one of whom was attired in a Slutty Scrabbleboard costume, which was by far the most brilliant thing I saw all night), I was having a lovely time at the first party of the night, a low-key affair at which I knew no one. We soon left that shindig for our next one, which was hosted by some of my guy friends. Now, I was arriving with about 8 other people, most of whom were not particularly close friends of the hosts. But since it's such a fun holiday in LA, I decided that I was bringing all my friends together in one place. Every single one of my friends, all together at the same party! YAY! Fun! It was practically like my birthday, but in October!!

I was totally relaxed, en route to this gathering of all people mine, when my phone rang, and it was Kay. Sure enough, she had just met my HOT, HOT Yoga Guy. Because he was in attendance (randomly) at my friends' party. Where he would meet EVERYONE IN MY LIFE in short order.

I literally broke out into a cold sweat. I am so phobic about my dudes meeting my friends that it has, on occasion, taken me 4 full months before allowing any sort of meeting to happen at all. And there I was, like a calf being lead to slaughter...on my way to a huge gathering of all my friends...and my HOT, HOT, Yoga Guy.

Of course, he was totally lovely (he's a friendly and charming fella) and my friends were, I think, as shocked as I was, but they were pretty cool, too. Even though it was Halloween and there were plenty of scantily clad women, he stuck to me pretty much the whole night, and we ended up making out in the room overlooking the skyline of LA. I like his friends, as well (always a good sign). And though I had many moments of feeling like my worlds were colliding a little too much for my liking...well, I survived. And we survived. We're having the date on Tuesday night so...apparently, he still likes me.

I haven't asked my friends if they like him...because frankly, at this stage of the game, I don't think I'm ready. I'm still feelin' my way through things with him (figuratively and literally) and I want to keep the decisions purely mine, for now. I'm sure I'll want input at some point, but for now...I think I'm going out on my own. This weekend was just a little too much of a scramble for my brain, and I gotta figure out what my heart's doing first before anyone else starts to weigh in...

Scrambles: good for dinner, complicated for emotions!

Cookie Talk

2010-10-26T13:50:00.000-07:00

I want to talk cookies.

And given the nature of this blog, you might be wondering, "which cookie is she talking about?". No, for once I am not speaking of the metaphorical cookie, one's lady parts (though this brings up the point that "milkshake", "candy", and "cookie" all refer to various parts of the female anatomy in the same general region...and I think those monikers are far preferable to their more derogatory counterparts, don't you?) Anyhoo, I'm baking a lot this week, so I'm thinking literal cookies. And I have made a discovery:

The best chocolate chip cookie recipe is, by far, Nestle's. I'm not kidding, people. I tried out the recipe from Joy of Cooking, I tried out the recipe from How to Cook Everything. And by far and away, if you are a cookie monster like me, Nestle's has the competition beat. One alteration I make is that I seriously under cook my chocolate chip cookies. When they are browned only around the edges and still cream-colored in the middle, I take them out of the oven. The tops are still quite soft. As the cool, they are fall-apart-in-your-mouth soft, and not at all cakey (I don't like cakey cookies. If I want cake, I will eat cake. If I want cookie, I want them to melt in my mouth). People ask me what my secret is...and it's that simple (not much of a secret). So here's the recipe from the back of the Nestle's bag. Sometimes the best things in life are the most simple...

http://allrecipes.com//Recipe/original-nestle-toll-house-chocolate-chip-cookies/Detail.aspx

More soon.

FG

Never Give All the Heart

2010-10-25T08:10:00.000-07:00

I am well-known for some serious, pop-culture guilty pleasures ("Kendra", Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance", and obviously, anything Katy Perry) so I'm changing it up today. Here's a poem by W.B. Yeats that I love. My book club read it last night and it really touched a nerve! Someone even called it the precursor to "The Rules" (hah). Enjoy...

Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy. Kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.

You Make Me Feel Like I'm Living a Teenage Dream

2010-10-22T23:13:00.000-07:00

OH MY GOD.

So--no go karts. And no Bubble Tape. HOT, HOT Yoga Guy pulled the plug on go karts (too far away) and instead took me to see "The Social Network". He picked me up in his convertible (fun! I felt like I was 8 years old!! What a thrill driving down Ventura Boulevard with the top down!!!) and he already had bought me movie munchies and drinks. We snuck them into the theater, and spent the movie alternately holding hands and popping chocolate-covered raisins. A perfect experience, as far as I was concerned.

Afterward, we ended up at my place (which hasn't seen this much man in a long freakin' time). A lot of making out, rolling around, and fun friskiness ensued. We had a fun time, he left to go to a concert, and I went to dinner with a friend. I expected to hear from him, maybe in a couple days (maybe). He explicitly told me he HATES the phone, and he also kind of hates making conversation, so I figured he'd get in touch when the urge to talk to me overcame his aversion to technology.

And lo and behold...as I drove home from dinner, my phone rang and it was HOT, HOT Yoga Guy. Who was calling me because he'd just had a long, hard conversation with a very good friend who is an alcoholic (and just realized it). And he called me because...he wanted me to know. And because he wanted to talk to me. He of "I HATE THE PHONE" fame picked up his phone, 4 hours after he left me, because he wanted to talk. I was flabbergasted.

What a surprising evening...all I know is that between the hand-holding at the movie, and the pent-up making-out at my place, he really does make me feel like a teenage dream. But the phone call...the phone call was all man, and pure grown-up. And I loved it. That made today super-special. Guys who want to bed you are a dime a dozen, and it's not terribly hard to find someone to take you to the movies, either. But a guy who hates the phone, but calls you because he wants to talk...that's something else entirely.

Go Karts and Bubble Tape

2010-10-20T23:45:00.000-07:00

Looks like my HOT, HOT Yoga Guy is taking me GO-KARTING on Friday. Did I mention that he also chews Bubble Tape? The kind that comes coiled in round, plastic containers? There's a chance I'm dating a 7-year-old, but he's so freakin' hot I'm not sure I care. If and when the day comes that I'm like "I'm dating a 7-year-old...and I am so annoyed I don't even care that he's hot anymore" well--if and when that day comes, I'll reconsider.

For now...I'm totally into my HOT, HOT Yoga Guy. I am riddled simultaneously with euphoria and anxiety, but apparently that's the price to pay for dating such a dreamboat. Or at least it's the price to pay when you're me.

SIGH.

Weigh In

2010-10-19T21:47:00.000-07:00

Friends:

Do you think it's preferable to make a roasted chicken & vegetables the first time you cook for someone, or short ribs and polenta? Though I will definitely not be cooking for my HOT, HOT Yoga Guy this weekend, I'm taking a poll...please weigh in! My roasted chicken has garnered me more than one marriage proposal in the past, so it's usually my go-to...but I'm thinking of shaking it up. Thoughts?

Merci,

Foodie Gal

Ready for Some Hot Stuff, Just Not Tonight

2010-10-19T21:35:00.000-07:00

HOT, HOT Yoga Guy update (because I know you're all eagerly awaiting an update):

He left my place at about 9:30pm on Saturday. An hour later, I had a text from him. And because I was awake at 2am, I texted him back in the middle of the night. We went back and forth a few times (ah, romance in 2010) and I went back to sleep. He texted me "Thanks for the great Saturday" on Sunday afternoon. Then he called me on Monday--"Hey, I'm in your neighborhood--are you around?" Sadly, I was not (though perhaps all for the best--we don't want this guy thinking I just wait around for him, right?) but now nice (and how unprecedented--the guy CALLED me. Are my standards getting too low? Again, welcome to dating in 2010). So we're going to touch base in a couple days to make plans...and dear GOD, if I'm able to hold it together through another super-hot make-out session, it will be nothing shy of a miracle.

However, there will be no hot making out tonight...because I had the awesomest (and most garlic and blue cheese-heavy) solo dinner ever tonight. I made white beans and kale with tons of garlic and parmesan, and my once-monthly filet mignon, topped with Blue Stilton. That's what I call single-girl cooking done right...a good reminder that ya gotta treat yourself right first before you extend yourself to anyone else. So here I am, taking care of Number 1, and eating all the garlic I can, 'cause I have the feeling there's a lot of making out in the future...and I'm gonna need all the strength I can get.

Four-Alarm Fire

2010-10-17T18:57:00.000-07:00

Dear friends,

I have undergone a transformation in the past 24 hours. I am now TOTALLY into beautiful men. Especially beautiful men who are thoughtful, easy to be around, and great kissers. For instance, my HOT, HOT Yoga Guy. Holy cow. I had the best time with him yesterday. I mean, I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep I was so excited. This is no joke.

We had a great time on the drive down, a great time seeing the play, a great time at dinner afterward, and a great time on the drive home. As we drove through my neighborhood, I was thinking "it's so easy to be around him" when he said "you're really easy to be around." We got home, he kissed me and simultaneously my cat meowed loudly, and the proverbial spark between us became a full-fledged forest fire...the kind SoCal suffers in the height of fire season...we spent 2 hours making out in the hottest, most delicious experience of my life. Now I've had some good times--some of you may recall Orgasmapalooza of 2010--but this rivals even that. I mean, I was weak in the knees. Such heat has never existed between two clothed people!

I didn't even know that someone could ignite me like this...reminds me of this old song called "I'm Beginning to See the Light":

Used to ramble through the park/
Singing sad songs in the dark/
Then you came and caused a spark/
That's a four alarm fire now!

And here we are, in the midst of my very own four-alarm fire. I'll keep you updated...

Love,

Foodie Gal

Baby, I'm Back

2010-10-14T14:09:00.000-07:00

Oh, friends. I owe you. As one reader pointed out today, my blog's been collecting dust. But not for lack of blog-worthy events...just because I've been so darned busy. It's a bad excuse. I know.

So, you're probably wondering what's going on...well, I was busy getting busy (kind of) on location in Seattle, where I was shooting a movie. I say I was getting busy (kind of) because my role involved a sex scene. Yup, that's right. It was, incidentally, a scene with a foursome which proves that art does NOT imitate life, as months ago the Polyamorist tried to get me to participate in something similar on multiple occassions, which I politely declined. But more on that later. Because let's be real here--my current real-life situation is far more interesting than any ole simulated sex scene in some movie.

To catch you up on the Four Man Plan...

I had a very nice second date OH so long ago with the Author. I was tapped, psychologically and emotionally, as it had been a very long and trying week. I had dinner with him at a very nice wine bar, and he was warm, empathetic, and a good listener. He kissed me nicely after dinner, and that was cool. I just used the word "nice" three times in the last paragraph, which we all know is the kiss of death, but still. I have to give credit where credit is due. It was a nice evening (there I go again).

Then, I went to Palate two nights later with my Old Well. Ah, it's so comfortable between us. Like an old shoe. Or more like an old pair of chaps. I had a fucking great time with the Old Well. The food was off the hook (roasted bone marrow, short ribs, and pork belly being the highlights) and the hooking up was just awesome. Over dinner I mentioned that I was wearing something insanely sexy underneath my dress (the aforementioned assless hosiery), which prompted a very serious game of 20 questions. There is little in life which builds more anticipation than making a man guess what you are wearing underneath your dress (he managed to guess leather, lace, and knots, in a row). He never guessed correctly, but needless to say, it was well received. The Old Well never fails me. He ain't tapped yet, ladies.

Then I took off for Seattle for a week, shot some scenes for a feature film, became artistically intertwined with the hot-shot, 26-year-old DP, and found myself (3 drinks into the night) holding hands with him as he stared into my eyes and asked where he could find me in LA. Now, I need a 26-year-old like I need a hole in my head, but I'm saying yes to life so WHY NOT? Bring it on, baby! I liked the last 26-year-old I dated (this was way pre-blog) and he came so hard he once shot himself in the eye. Whether this is actually a redeeming quality or not is entirely up for discussion, but my point is...there will be no limp dick in my future...to which I say, BRING IT ON, BABY.

And finally, perhaps the most exciting piece of news...I'm going to see a play tomorrow with my HOT, HOT Yoga Guy...I met him briefly in New York years ago, and we were recently reunited out here at my yoga studio completely by chance...I'm way hot for him (he is seriously pretty, people) and I think he's hot for me, too. So against all odds, I have a little pseudo-date tomorrow with the prettiest guy since James Marsden...and I have to admit I'm excited! Despite my history of assiduously avoiding pretty men, I am fucking psyched. As I fretted and mewed and tried to talk myself out of it, a friend said to me, "Don't hate on him just because he's hot." So here I am. Open-minded. Saying yes to life. And saying YES, YES, OH GOD YES to my HOT, HOT, YOGA GUY.

You know, sometimes a girl just wants to have fun..so wish me luck tomorrow...I think there's a lot of fun, just the kind a girl wants to have, in my future.

"Rising Cost of Kimchee Alarms Koreans"

2010-10-14T14:08:00.000-07:00

This is my new favorite New York Times Headline.

I'm Just Not That Into Him

2010-09-28T23:21:00.000-07:00

This is going to sound crazy, but I just spent the last 2 hours talking in-depth with Hot Guy and...I'm just not sure I like him anymore. He's a nice person, but I somehow feel he might not be...man enough for me (yeah, I said it.) For all his talk about how he is attracted to strong women, he just seems...really young. And kind of like he's out to prove something. Yikes. Big strike against him.

One thing he has going in his favor: a standing, open invitation to Molly Ringwald's house. Yes, I am serious. And that is a BIG thing to have in one's favor.

I'm not saying he's out of the game...I'm just saying I think I might just not be that into him. Maturity is sexy. Maturity with warmth and nothing to prove is even sexier. I may need to leave the 27-somethings behind.

The Old Well Spouts Once More

2010-09-27T22:27:00.001-07:00

And finally...it's a two date week. And it's only Monday.

Wed night: Round 2 with The Author. I'm an optimist, I admit it.

Sunday night: PUT ON THE BARRY WHITE, The Old Well is BACK! We're going to dinner at Palate. I'm considering wearing assless hosiery (not kidding. This is why I blog anonymously.) It is a guaranteed good time. I am looking forward to it.

Who knows who else may get in on the action this week...all I know is it's time to PACK THE HANDCUFFS 'cause the dry spell is OVER!

I Love My Friends

2010-09-27T21:49:00.000-07:00

The following is today's email exchange with one of my girlfriends:

Me:

so i came out of yoga this morning, and the teacher had been talking about approaching other people with generosity, and i remembered that yesterday at work i wasn't feeling great and mike checked in on me to see how i was doing. he was worried that i was upset when i was actually just sick-ish, but it was such a nice gesture that i thought, "i haven't talked to him in a while--i'll check in and say thanks and see if he wants to have lunch". so i did, and we had lunch together today, which was nice until we started talking about dating. he said "this is going to make you mad, but the reason i mostly date women under 27 or over 35 is that women in your age range all want to have babies and feel the clock ticking." i said "i really don't have a problem finding dates, i'm just looking for someone who i like enough to have a relationship with" but what i really should have said was "THAT'S WHY I DON'T DATE YOU OR YOUR STUPID FRIENDS."

My friend's brilliant response:

I cannot WAIT to meet this douchebag. What a fucking tool!

What he really meant to say was "The reason I actually only date women under 27 (I would never, ever date a woman over 35, nor would she want to date me, for that matter) is that I am insecure and hate myself. I want to someone young enough to worship me and naive enough for me to treat them badly without saying anything so I can try in vain to soothe my bruised ego from not being popular in high school. The thing that's really sad is I will get bored of these chicks eventually so I'll keep dumping them, but I'll always be a loser and nobody, NOBODY wants to date a loser who is an old, frustrated would-be screenwriter. I sure hope I get really, really rich!"

I will feel sorry for him once my rage subsides.

*This* is why friends make the world go 'round. I fucking love my friends.

Tart Triumph

2010-09-27T21:38:00.000-07:00

Tart update: still behaving like one.

Other tart update: slam dunk!

When I finally finished with my tart, it was perfect: caramelized and glistening, with a flaky puff pastry crust and a lot of gorgeous tomatoes. Overwhelmingly, the dinner guests adored it. They liked both the tart and the dessert. Heh heh.

I realize it doesn't look like much...but I just had to post it. Forgive me. I was so proud of this tart.

Come and Knock on Our Door...

2010-09-25T16:08:00.000-07:00

I am very torn about a dress I bought today (with the intention of wearing tonight)...on one hand, I think it's super cute. On the other hand, I think it looks like what Mrs. Roeper used to wear on "Three's Company".

You can see my dilemma.

Also...I feel like I'm in Groundhog Day...I just finished making my third Tomato Tartin. It took me three tries to get it right. I am so stubborn, and such a perfectionist, that there was NO WAY I was going to serve a less-than-perfect tartin this evening.

I still haven't inverted this one, but it's looking good. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Tart Status Update

2010-09-24T19:07:00.000-07:00

Note to self...bad idea to decide to make phone call as tart cools--and before one must invert it onto the platter. Because caramel cools and forms a bond like superglue, and your gorgeous tart ends up stuck to your cast iron skillet. A poorly timed phone call indeed.

On the upside of things...I think Super Cool Jazz Guy and I are going to the opera. Not in a date-y way, but in a friendly way. I like this a lot. He's so nice and cool...I'm just happy to hang out with him. Unprecedented.

Btw, the tart is not beautiful but it tastes fucking amazing!

Making a Tart, and Behaving Like One, Too.

2010-09-24T16:42:00.000-07:00

Dear friends,

It's open season. I'm making a tart AND making like a tart as well. No man (or tomato) is safe from my wiley ways.

Here's what I'm making: a tomato tartin from Bon Appetit magazine (a couple months back.) It's a dessert (really) and I'm serving it tomorrow night at my Tomato Tasting Menu dinner party.

Here's what I'm working on, man-wise:

1. The Old Well just resurfaced, ready to be tapped--perhaps dinner next weekend? It's looking good. EUREKA! I'VE HIT OIL!! (Oh, how I love when he resurfaces. So uncomplicated...so very uncomplicated.)

2. A cute new (but old) friend--he and I met briefly in New York years ago, and we connected again this morning. He got my number, and my money's on plans in the next week or so. He is potentially even yummier than my tart. Seriously.

3. Second date with The Author next Wed ('cause I am a die-hard optimist--maybe two's a charm?) And, a girl's gotta eat...

And finally, I'm kicking my weekend off with a midnight trip to the Pleasure Chest tonight.

Never a dull moment. I'll keep you updated on the tart...and the dessert as well.

Love,

Foodie Gal

Let There Be Steak

2010-09-20T14:43:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, when you just don't know how you feel or exactly what to do, you just want to eat something that you can count on: steak.

I had a very nice dinner with The Author on Saturday night. We had a bottle of rose, a salad of heirloom melon, lime, and mint, and a small plate of the most delicious grilled octopus of all time. It had been braised then grilled, and was served with homemade chorizo and a southern specialty known as chowchow (sweet, tangy pickled vegetables.) Then we had fried sweetbreads over a bed of creamed spinach with some grilled artichokes (yum!). And a panacotta for dessert. It was lovely and delicious, but by the end of the meal, I just didn't know. Generally, first dates fall into two categories for me: OH MY GOD YES or NO WAY. I felt kind of 50/50 at the end of this date; while the food and conversation were both great, I just wasn't sure I was feelin' The Author.

So I have decided to wait until after the next date to decide...and live in the gray zone for a while (very uncharacteristic of me.)

While I may have felt slightly ambivalent about this date, I did not feel ambivalent AT ALL about the dinner I made myself last night: a perfectly seared filet mignon, swiss chard with red pepper flakes, and sweet, yellow, roasted potatoes from the farmer's market. It was pretty much exactly what I wanted.

Moral of the story: when you don't get exactly what you want in one area of life, there's always dinner at home.

A Hard Day's Night

2010-09-18T13:38:00.000-07:00

Some nights are like eating a chopped salad: everything's already diced up into bite-sized pieces for you, it's nutritionally balanced, and as you chew, there's a pleasing array of sensations in your mouth...in a simple, cool, manageable kinda way.

Some nights are more like eating a sloppy, saucy, rich, and messy spaghetti bolognese...there's only one way to eat the bolognese, and that is to THROW CAUTION TO THE WIND, PULL YOUR HAIR BACK AND DIVE THE FUCK IN. You might end up with a big fucking mess, and it might get a little out of control, but you gotta go for it. You gotta really go for it.

Last night was one of those nights.

It's hard to know where to begin, so here are some highlights:

1. I ran into an old high school classmate whom I had not seen for 16 years. We chatted for almost an hour before we figured it out. What a coincidence! My friend Raina and I *literally* ran into this woman on a street corner in West Hollywood. Small world.

2. The three of us made our way into the bar, and promptly met some French guys, one of whom is a photographer for a foot fetish magazine (not kidding.) Raina peeled off one of her caged stilettos for him to inspect her feet (not kidding, again.) He told her she could make $5,000 a day foot modeling (really.) The other guy is an astronomist (really? yes.) and there was a third--who was actually Italian--who works for Apple. The Italian, Donato (amazing! is he a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?) tried to convince me to have a courtship with him the Italian way: "First we see what the other person has to offer in bed, before we decide to have a relationship. You like this way?" (I passed on that offer, but at least he was direct. That's something of an upgrade from American guys in LA.) It was like a bad joke: "A French foot fetishist, a French astronomer, and an Italian stallion walk into a bar..."

3. And then, for the finale of the evening, an hour later I ended up trying to make out with a random cute guy, who ACTUALLY PUSHED ME AWAY. (It was his birthday. He had flirted with me briefly. We concocted a plan to give him a birthday make-out session. It made sense at the time.) So after he pushed me away, I laughed and said "Your loss!" to which he leaned down and said "Actually my gain--I'm gonna jerk off to that a lot." Really? Because had you played your cards right, *I* COULD BE THE ONE JERKING YOU OFF A LOT, NOT MR. RIGHTY OR MR. LEFTY. Dear god, what a fucking idiot.

So per usual, never a dull moment. Any evening that involves foot fetishes, trying to make out with a guy (and getting rejected), and then being told he's intending to masturbate to that image...well, what I can I say--it was messy and perhaps slightly ungraceful, but it was damn fun and I'm not sorry.

But it was, indeed, a hard day's night. Whew.

Animal, Part 3

2010-09-16T22:18:00.002-07:00

The Author made the executive decision to take me to dinner at Animal on Saturday night...which is a VERY good call on his part. As you know, I LOVE ANIMAL. I've been there on a date once before (with a pretty unmemorable guy) and I've been there with the boys of my Fancy Dinner Club...and no matter the company, the food's always outstanding. I find Animal to be a very sexy restaurant. Here's hoping it will work its magic on The Author as well!

2010-09-16T22:18:00.001-07:00

Nerd Pride

2010-09-15T08:52:00.000-07:00

Some updates:

1. I have a Saturday night dinner date with The Author this weekend...proving that nerds finish first (MIT NERD PRIDE! Ahhh, my dad would be so proud.) Location TBD. I'm looking forward to this.

2. On Monday, I received the nicest phone call ever from Super Cute Jazz Guy (who is the nicest guy ever) saying he had an amazing time with me, but he's still recovering from his last relationship and realized he's not ready to date yet...disappointing? Yeah, but he was so cool about it I could hardly be too upset. Besides, he's super short and I did have that moment of "Oh, thank god--I can keep my 4-inch heels..."

3. Shockingly, no word from Hot Guy. I emailed him yesterday about various volunteering stuff, and casually brought up dinner (which *he* had suggested during the Best Phone Call Ever) and I haven't heard back from him! I'm actually quite surprised. Well, all will be revealed sooner rather than later...maybe he's not interested after all?

4. Someone from last weekend resurfaced via email...however, I find him not that cute and not that interesting, so I may just not respond. Does that make me a bad person? I kind of think dating should be about going out with people you like...or find interesting...or attractive. Preferably all three, but one is mandatory. Right?

So there you go. Nerds 1, Hot Guys, 0. I could have guessed my life would go like this.

Butter Dance Off Jerk-Off

2010-09-12T21:46:00.000-07:00

Also, I had this notable exchange with a guy wearing a "Butter Dance Off 2004" college t-shirt:

Me: So, did you graduate from college in 2004?

Him: Ummm, no. Are you trying to figure out how old I am?

Me: Uh, how old *are* you?

Him: 27.

Me: I'm 32.

Him: You must have, like, really high standards.

Me: Sorry?

Him: You must have really high standards. Since you're still single.

Me: I think having high standards is a good thing.

Him: When are you going to start to lower your standards? I mean, what's the timeline? How old do you have to get before you start lowering your standards?

Me: (Stunned silence.)

(Note to all men everywhere: you should never, EVER have to convince a woman she should lower her standards to go out with you. And on that note, please don't EVER tell a woman she should lower her standards and go out with you because she's getting old. Because that never EVER wins you points. Ever.)

Ahhh...sometimes this blog just fucking writes itself.

Love,

Foodie Gal

This Porridge is Too Hot, This Porridge is Too Cold

2010-09-12T21:31:00.001-07:00

I feel like fucking Goldilocks.

Two highlights of my week:

1. A cheeky 16-year-old, WHO IS INCIDENTALLY ONE OF OUR STUDENTS, said of me meeting his attractive dad (and potentially becoming his stepmom), "I look forward to suckling at her teat."

Really? Yeah. Ready to continue? It gets better...

2. While attending my friend David's birthday party last night, his father developed something of a fixation for me. He led off with "I'm old so I can say this...you're very beautiful" which rapidly turned into his asking David, in front of me, if David would be cool with MY BECOMING DAVID'S STEPMOTHER. Keep in mind this man is *70* AND IS STILL MARRIED TO HIS WIFE (who was within earshot). As the night progressed, David started running interference every time his dad came near me. David's mother did as well. My friend Annie physically stood between me and David's dad as a last resort. The whole thing was so uncomfortable (and so ludicrous) that eventually, I just left.

This Goldilocks is ready for her Mr. JUUUUST RIGHT. Calling all guys who are neither 16 nor 70...let's go!

Who Put the Whiskey in My Milkshake?

2010-09-07T22:02:00.000-07:00

...also known as the best NY Times headline of all time.

Indeed...who put the whiskey in my milkshake? The one that's bringing all the boys to the yard? And while we're at it...who let the dogs out? Who, who, who, who, who?

I think I have dogs on the brain...Super Cute Jazz Guy has a super cute doggie named Wylie...he also has a super cute smile...and amazing eyes...did I mention that already???

I can't WAIT to see what this week has in store!

The Police and Our First Date

2010-09-06T22:29:00.000-07:00

Super Cute Jazz Guy and I had a MARATHON date today. It was the marathon date to end all dates. It was 9 hours long. I am not kidding. It was three times the length of the average first date. And it involved wearing a bikini. And the police. But I am getting ahead of myself...

I met Super Cute Jazz Guy at his apartment at 1pm, bearing a bevvy of snacks and a 6-pack of beer. He immediately asked if I'd be interested in having dinner with our mutual friends around 7 or 8 (so I knew it was going to be a long one from the start!) I acquiesed, though inside I had a brief moment of "Holy fuck, what are we possibly going to talk about for 6 hours?!?" But I did not need to fear, as Super Cute Jazz Guy is an excellent conversationalist, an interesting person, and an all-around good guy. We were in the middle of a profound (and very interesting) conversation, and I was *totally* feelin' him when...the cops busted us for our beer (one each, by the way.) We got off with a citation instead of a misdemeanor, which is a good thing, but still...our first date involved THE POLICE (and I ain't talkin' about the band.) Where does one go from there?

Apparently, one goes back to shower (separately) at his place, and to dinner with said mutual friends...and while it was fun, I was so tired and sunburned by that point that I uncharacteristically petered out. I probably should have called it a night after the beach, but I had agreed to the plan 6 hours earlier so...onward I soldiered. Afterward, he drove me back to where my car was parked while we listened to jazz standards. I was completely and totally blissed out. Very, very happy. I mean--he's adorable (those intense blue eyes) and thoughtful and kind...and I could spend just about every moment of my day sitting with him and listening to the most romantic music in the world. I really wanted him to kiss me.

But it came time to say good-night, and he didn't. He hugged me and we parted ways. I'm a little afraid this means that he's just not that into me...but I suppose only time will tell. And as I keep telling myself, this whole 3-man plan will work itself out through self-selection...if one of them is my guy, he will find a way to stick around. And hopefully, eventually, kiss me good-night.

Summer Lovin' (Had Me a Blast)

2010-09-05T16:06:00.000-07:00

Ladies, do you remember the opening scene of "Grease" when Danny and Sandy are romping on a gorgeous, romantic beach as their summer draws to a close?

Well, that very beach--Matador Beach--will become the site of my first date with Super Cute Jazz Guy. Tomorrow. Labor Day. (I'd like to nod to "When Harry Met Sally" here and note that I HAVE A DATE FOR A NATIONAL HOLIDAY. It's been a long time; what can I say.)

Anyhoo...Super Cute Jazz Guy left me a very nice voicemail this afternoon asking me to go to Matador Beach with him tomorrow, to which I was tempted to reply "Me bull, you matador...you spear me with big sword" (Needless to say I did not, but it did cross my mind.) And I will happily admit that I woke up thinking about Super Cute Jazz Guy on Saturday morning...feeling a little like Stella, right after she gets her groove back. Yeah, baby.

So here I am, groove back and feeling...feisty. And headed, tomorrow, on the first date I have have been on in months. I'm not gonna lie. I am excited. And friends, if you saw him you'd be excited too...because he's quite handsome and lovely (and how often have I been able to say that?)

More on all this soon...summer's almost over but apparently it ain't too late to have a romp on Matador Beach...ooooh, can't wait to have me a blast!

I Must Have Done Something Good

2010-09-04T01:16:00.000-07:00

Holy fucking shit, I have had the BEST 24 HOURS EVER in the Man Department. I know I've been remiss in posting, but truly-there has been little to nothing to report until about 8pm last night. Then, the dam broke, the water flowed, and the next thing I knew the FOUR MAN PLAN was back in effect (and frankly, better than ever.) I am so inspired to post about all this that I'm doing so after 1am while I am running on 4 1/2 hours of sleep. But what can I say, this situation is JUST THAT GOOD. I mean, it fucking MERITS a 1am sleep-deprived posting. Who needs sleep when you have a stable of men awaiting you? Not me. But on with my story.

And here we go:

So, last night I attended a writers' social event at the bar in the Farmer's Market, where I promptly met a cute, very nice author of 3 books who recently sold a huge screenplay to a big Hollywood studio. I'm gonna call him The Author. He graduated from MIT and Brown, was unfailingly chivalrous towards me, and is taking me to dinner next week. I parted ways with him last night feeling self-satisfied (it's always nice to know ya still got it) and that would have been enough to satisfy me. Except I didn't even know what surprises fate had in store...

This morning, I rose from my cozy bed after a full 4 1/2 hours of sleep, to be greeted by a text message from the Musician, asking me to come see him tonight. Um, NEIN. Already have plans! I feel even slightly more self-satisfied, and I go about my day.

And here's where I really start to get rocked by the total cosmic awesomeness of this 24 hours:

I called Hot Guy with the intention of leaving him a nice message on his voicemail, because he's out of town. But instead, the phone rang 3 times and he answered. And he doesn't say "Hi" or "Hello", he says "I was just thinking about you." WHAAAAT? (Cut to my knees buckling.) We chatted a little and made small talk, and then he said "I'm really glad you called." I replied, "Oh, well, I know you like to text but I'm driving so it's easier to call" to which he said "I'm glad you did...it's great to hear your voice. How about dinner next week when I'm back?" To which I thought "FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!!!!! Wait...am I dreaming? This surely can't be real. No, I'm not! FUCK, YEAH!" And then I got off the phone and screamed for about 10 seconds. No kidding. I felt like a teenage girl seeing the Beatles for the first time in 1969. It was that kind of swoony, heart-stopping, breathless magic. Whew!

But I'm not done yet (because apparently the Universe has decided to really up the ante this week) because I went to dinner with some friends, and who should come a long but SUPER CUTE JAZZ GUY. Now, said friends have been considering setting me up with him for a long time now and...apparently that day has arrived. Because I got to dinner and there he was--adorable, very sexy, very smart and funny. We flirted over dinner and then had drinks together afterward and...wow. I am totally feeling this guy, too. There's nothing left to say except I THINK I MIGHT BE THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD TONIGHT. It's like that song in Sound of Music..."I must have done something good." Because in 24 hours I went from being seriously not dating at all to OH MY GOD, so many men and so little time. So much potential. So much hope. And DAMN, so many cuties!

Who knows what will happen? SUPER CUTE JAZZ GUY is sexy and we talk music together. HOT GUY really owns a piece of my heart...and he thinks it's great to hear my voice (I keep replaying that over and over again in my head). And THE AUTHOR is a blank slate...he, too, could be my guy. Why is this all happening at once? I'm not sure, but I am sure as hell that it's time to really enjoy this ride...because this happens but once in a blue moon.

Thank you for listening. Oh, what a night!!

Delicious and Nutritious

2010-08-23T22:03:00.000-07:00

I'm back!

Hello, world...hello, kitchen and HEL-LO my hot new crush!

As you can see, vacation did me a world of good. I'm rested, I'm rejuvenated, and I'm ready to get my groove on. Look out Stella, 'cause I've got my groove back! Let's GO!

A couple delicious things on the Good for Me list:

1. Lunch. I'm on a healthy-eating kick, 'cause I booked a role in a movie which shoots in October. Two months is a perfect amount of time for me to commit to working out and eating moderately. Therefore, a zucchini-ribbon "pasta" lunch (with a little shaved Parmesan, olive oil, and crispy friend shallots on top) was just right. Was it good? Hell, yes. Was it good for me? Indeed!

2. My new crush. I'll call him Hot Guy (he's even more delish than lunch). He's super cute. He's super smart. He couldn't be nicer. We met volunteering. I showed up to tutor a kid, and Hot Guy kind of just dropped out of the sky and into my lap (thank you, Buddha.) Is he good? He sure is! Is he good for me? Here's hoping! I'm feeling...psyched. And a little weak in the knees. This weekend I found myself staring into his big brown eyes, a dopey smile pasted on my face. We said good-night, I got into my car, and my friend who had been observing us said "You need to hit that. You really need to hit that." Indeed.

So there you go...a couple things that are good (and good for me.)

Ain't life delicious?

More soon!

Love,

Foodie Gal

Fool Me Once, Shame on You, Fool Me Twice...

2010-07-31T23:51:00.000-07:00

I had a date tonight with an old flame--the Triathlete.

He remains as enigmatic as ever. I tried really hard to make some sort of connection, but it was rather unsuccessful. He really just doesn't give me much. And that makes me try harder, which makes me feel like a jerk. I like him and I enjoy being with him, but it's basically impossible for me to feel like I can give myself over and be vulnerable with someone who is so impenetrable. I have no idea why he initiated a romantic date with me (we had a nighttime picnic on a hilltop overlooking the city and then wandered around a playground, ending up kissing on the swings.)

We didn't have an honest conversation about how things ended. We didn't really talk about anything that meant anything. I feel wholly and utterly unsatisfied, which I guess is good to know in and of itself.

Did he just want to get laid? Maybe. I'd like to think that he was curious about how I've been, cared enough to see me in person, but I'm just not sure that would be the reality of the situation.

Today kind of sucked, to be honest.

This morning I had brunch with a girlfriend--we both ate eggs while talking about freezing our eggs (really) and then she told me that J. Nich is madly in love with some blonde coffee barista. Then I had this date with the Triathlete and I was really hoping to get something...anything...out of it. But instead here I am, alone at midnight and friggin' frustrated beyond belief. Obviously, you can't tap a well that's already run dry and you can't expect emotional intimacy from someone whose track record bears no trace of that. So instead you move on...to the next well, the next guy, and you hope for the best.

And that, my friends, is the end of the story.

"ABSOLUTELY SOAKING WET"

2010-07-30T22:58:00.001-07:00

And...the dry spell is OVER!

1. The blind date with Mr. Culinary School is in the works.

2. I met a gorgeous, good guy this week who's going to volunteer with me.

3. And I have a date (ish) next week with a guy friend who I've been madly crushing on since I met him.

It's raining men...and they're bringing sexy back! (Is that the sound of my mojo returning?? Meow!)

Hallelujah!

So High, So Low

2010-07-26T22:31:00.000-07:00

The thing about being single is that the highs are really high and the lows are really low.

I mean, finding yourself on the roofdeck of a hotel, buck naked and madly making out with a gorgeous guy who looks exactly like James Marsden is one of the great highs of all time. I mean, I think it's safe to say that none of my married friends are going to be doing that (at least with James Marsden) anytime soon. THAT, friends, is TOTALLY worth being single for...

But the lows....like when you find yourself eating roasted broccoli and cauliflower with horseradish sauce for dinner (because you can't get up the energy to cook yourself a real meal), while reading Rachel Ray's magazine and fantasizing about what to cook for your hypothetical kids...those lows are low.

Equally depressing: your therapist repeatedly suggesting that you consider freezing your eggs. And I am not talking about the free-range, organic kind in your fridge.

Mr. Culinary School

2010-07-25T22:59:00.001-07:00

New set-up, friends...and once again, hope springs eternal.

This weekend, my friend Lily met a super-cute, MBA-turned-culinary-school-student who is interested in meeting me.

As my friend Taylor put it, "He knows how to make money AND make dinner. Best of both worlds!"

Indeed! My response to her text asking if I was interested?

"Culinary school? Sign. Me. Up."

Keep your fingers crossed for me...

So L.A.

2010-07-21T08:34:00.000-07:00

The following exchange happened yesterday:

Me: So I met this former child star from a very famous 80's sitcom on Saturday night. It was *so* LA!

C: Amazing...

Me: ...But I pretended I didn't know who he was.

C: Omigod. *That* is so LA.

It's really true.

I kept up the charade for a good twenty minutes. Because I was too cool to be like "OMIGOD YOU WERE ON *THAT* SHOW! I LOOOOOOVED THAT SHOW! I LOOOOOOVED YOU ON THAT SHOW! I CANNOT WAIT TO TELL ALL MY FRIENDS THAT I SPENT SATURDAY NIGHT TALKING TO YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Yeah, I'm too cool.

Also

2010-07-21T08:31:00.000-07:00

The following text message, received by Kay, is also not going to get you laid:

"At a strip club. Thinking of you."

"You Da Bomb"

2010-07-20T18:21:00.000-07:00

Note to potential suitors:

Saying "You da bomb" is *not* the fast track into my pants .

Thanks,

Foodie Gal

Pretty Boy

2010-07-11T23:17:00.001-07:00

Addendum:

1. After a little internet research, it turns out my boy toy is 24, not 22.

2. It also turns out he is a male model and beauty pageant winner.

I really couldn't make this up if I tried. Obviously, I have been trying to upload a photo of him for the last hour, because you really have to see this one to believe it...but alas, technology is not cooperating and you will have to wait for that. But trust me...it's worth the wait.

Welcome to Cougartown

2010-07-11T18:19:00.000-07:00

I'm on my way to Cougartown. (But I think we all knew this already.)

I just spent the day at an acting workshop getting blatantly hit on by a smokin'-hot, 22-year-old actor. Now, I need a 22-year-old actor like I need a hole in my head. But damn, this boy is fine. He is Hollywood Hot. Beautiful face, crazy muscular body, very charming. (Seeing as my therapist has suggested that I start looking for serious guys ready for a serious relationship...this seems like a pretty ironic development.)

Shockingly, I had a terrible time accepting his overtures...perhaps because I was disconcerted by the beauty before me (it was blinding) or perhaps because I felt like middle-aged Blanche DuBois kissing the paperboy. Regardless, when he told me he is a great cook and asked to cook dinner together, I scuttled away like a spooked hermit crab. (To be fair, I think I may have said something flip first and then scuttled, but I don't quite remember. Arrgh.)

Now, if he actually calls me, I'll get it together and have a date with him...but for the time being I am going to let this whole thing become a pleasant memory. I mean, I'm a 32-year-old woman looking to settle down. I don't need a 22-year-old Adonis to get me off track by getting me off. (Har, har.) Or at least that's where I stand today. I'll probably change my mind...but first I gotta get used to the idea of waking up with someone prettier than I am.

It was bound to happen eventually. This is LA, after all.

Rod Blagojevich Settles Down

2010-07-02T00:12:00.001-07:00

Tonight I ran into the former roommate of the Rod Blagojevich from my past...and guess what? The ultimate cheating liar has settled down.

To which I say, really?? He was such a first-rate liar and cheater when I was with him...THAT guy decided to settle down? Is it the apocalypse? Because I seriously never thought I'd see this day.

I think I might have a magic vagina. Because everyone I sleep with ends up settling down. With other chicks. I mean, I dodged a bullet with Rod (I pity the woman who settled down with THAT guy)...but really, this is kind of depressing.

What a fucking week.