Random thoughts today:
I loved, no adored, meeting 3 Teens’ Mom. It felt as if we’d picked up where we’d left off, only we’d never met before. You know, aside from in the “comment room” of this Greek Tragedy blog. She was so much younger than I’d imagined. Soulful and comforting, mama wise, I already knew. What I didn’t: that she has a sugary girlish voice and is as pretty as a picture. It’s just so lovely when you connect with someone, someone you know will leave the light on for you, who’s in your corner, no matter what. MEET. Yes, upon meeting you just know that you’d be there for each other. That’s how it felt. That, and I really want to be her dating guru.
I hate J.Crew, but am willing to be woo’d. That summer catalog better hurry up and put on some lipstick.
I am very excited that my weight is back in the 130’s again.
Tonight I’m eating dinner at Chef David Bull’s Second Bar + Kitchen. Really looking forward to it after hearing a few friends rave (also love my friend Jodi’s write-up). Fried pickles really are your friend. Before moving to TexAss, I’d have winced at the thought. Really? Yes’m. You break through the batter, a crisp golden-fried wall, then you run into a toothsome pickle, as happy as a cucumber. Spears of fried pickles, served with a trough of ranch dressing, are, quite simply, hog-heaven in the making.
Last week, I had Bill Norris Fever (the bartender who used to Bee Sting it at Fino), and headed to Haddington’s, a new favorite. Though, not the gastropub go-to when you’re trying to stretch your Weight Watchers points. Hello stack of onion rings the size of an ostrich egg. Though it’s the happening place to hit for a perfectly genteel drink dressed in salacious clothing. Everyone should learn how to make drinks the way they do at Haddington’s. Plus, I hear from my friend Kristi that the brunch is remarkable.
After dinner tonight, we’re bringing Phil’s parents to The Broken Spoke. It’s what it sounds like. Men in cowboy hats ask for your hand, give you a turn around the wooden dance floor, then return you proper to your seat and thank you kindly for the dance. It’s how it’s done. No ulterior motives, just an old school two-steppin’ joint with a wooden wagon-wheel out front. Seeing that wagon-wheel makes me think of Jess (Bruno Kirby) and Marie (Carrie Fisher) and their argument about good taste. This much I know for sure: bad taste is good anytime you’re in an establishment that can fall into the Honkey-tonk category. Raise your long-neck beer to that. We’re arriving early for dance lessons, ’cause this New Yorker dances like she’s broken. Really, the Girl Scouts should make a patch for this kind of thing—and it should come with a blister shield. View photos from the last time I tried to dance.
Last on my mind is work. Really it’s top of mind, but I’ve just pulled into Procrastination Station. I’m working on a reality TV show pitch in the relationship space, combing through my dating + mating archives, swimming in the world of insecurity and frustration that was my dating life.
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