My honeymoon with the ordinary is over.
I tried. I really really tried.
I dare YOU to appreciate the simple sensory pleasures of sticky rice between your toes while walking across the kitchen floor in the middle of the night.
I dare YOU to serenade your flat screen T.V. and XBOX 360 when they start flashing and beeping and sparking.
You wanna know what you'll learn about romance, peeps!? Singing sweetly gets you NO WHERE! Especially when YOU are the only one committed to making it work.
I should have saved all my chocolates and roses and diamonds for the dryer repair guy because he still hasn't showed up.
And to make things worse, Michael Jackson is dead!
I can't tell you how many times I roller skated to the public library to check out record albums of Michael Jackson.
And I was there for the gasp heard round the world the first time he walked on the moon.
And I remember exactly where I was the first time his nose changed shape--and the second time and the third time and the fourth time.
But COME ONE, is he seriously going to upstage Farrah? The one who inspired me to feather my hair and wear an orange one piece bathing suit in 6th grade.
The inner tween in me requires a moment of silence.
(In all seriousness, I watched the Farrah documentary last month and I have nothing but the highest respect for how gracefully she fought her battle against cancer. God bless her and her loved ones!)
So now that the romance is dead, I am turning to porn.
Food porn. Not actual food, but thoughts of food . . . memories of food . . . dreams of food.
I'm fantasizing about Cosi's in New York. Barbaloot was right! It's yum-o! Best raspberry mojito lemonade ever! Thanks Barb.
And if you guys are ever in the D.C. area go to FIVE GUYS! mmmmm. Now that's food porn! XXX French fries galore, with spuds straight from Driggs Ideeho. And rated R baskets of peanuts you can break and eat to your heart's content. If you're in Maryland you can toss the shells right onto the floor like a shameless animal, but when in Virginia, do as the Virginians do and keep it tidy. (People are much more civilized in Virginia.)
I heard Tamn saying she's flying back to SLC for a Cafe Rio fix, but NO NEED Tamners, go to Chipotles. It's just as finger lickin' good!
Okay, dim the lights and cue the music . . .
I'm dreaming tonight of a place I love, even more than I usually do . . .
And although I know it's a long road back, I promise you . . .
I'LL BE HOME FOR BREADSTICKS!
That's right. I'm talking about OLIVE GARDEN! July 11th. In my home town of P.R.O.V.O.
Can't wait to meet you guys! It's gonna be soooooo weird.
BTW, the above is an actual photograph taken by moi at The Olive Garden in Times Square.
To understand my obsession with The Olive Garden, you need to know THERE IS NO OLIVE GARDEN in Hawaii. We only get the mouth watering commercials. We have no way of satisfying our $7-all-you-can-eat-soup-salad-and-breadstick cravings here.
So it stands to reason that the first place we parked our empty bellies in New York City was THE OLIVE GARDEN!
This is me BEFORE I got this:
This is me BEFORE I got this:
And this is me AFTER.
Not only does The Olive Garden have the best breadsticks on Broadway, it also has the best view!
The early bird gets the corner table.
So peeps, The Olive Garden opens at 11 a.m. sharp. Be there or be . . . sitting at your own table!
And bring your son's backwards baseball cap.
(P.S. I totally looked like a muppet in that BEFORE shot, don't you think?)