Glad Tidings

Lately, I find myself increasingly repulsed by the very existence of lettuce. Not sweet butter lettuce all delicately torn into pretty wooden salad bowls, but iceberg lettuce that’s shredded and haphazardly tossed atop sandwich buns. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing more disgusting than hot wilted lettuce, and I can’t stop gagging at the memory of my lunchtime sandwich, the vision of the hot, sticky lettuce triggering my gag reflex over and over again. It gets darker green! And hot and wilty!

Hot lettuce. Oh my God, I can’t stop thinking about it. HOT LETTUCE.

(Note how I sadly, and completely ungracefully, managed to work lunch into this — a screaming faux pas, I’m aware — but seriously: HOT LETTUCE OMG I MIGHT DIE.)

While we’re on the subject of food, Adam and I were wondering: how many people, do you think, get dessert out at a restaurant? Do you get dessert when you go out to eat? Granted, we eat out far more than your average couple (>4 days each week — remember, he works from home and must get out or die), but we never do, and my God, the way that our waitresses glare at us with white-hot glares of glarey, dessertless death, you’d think we decided to forgo entrees and subsist on coffee and free water with extra lemons, and please, do you have any more rolls?

Which led me to wonder when people opt for dessert, because it is a rare occasion that I’ll agree to a dessert out, and it almost *always* involves creme brulee, as I don’t own my own torchey thing, and with good reason, as I would almost certainly bring the home to a state of rubble. I’m not against dessert, you see, it’s just that I like it much later than dinner, and scarfed down at home in my pajamas.

By the way, I realize that there are all of three of you who care, but Casey. Casey is my favorite to win Top Chef, and I hope she wipes the floor with Hung’s classically trained ass and sends him packing for his glorious, glorious mushroom world.

And with this sad, sad and utterly pathetic effort at trying to write something remotely coherent, I’ve got to go to bed. I’m trying not to drool from exhaustion, as I just (as in, five minutes ago) wrapped up a humongous freelance project, and I’m coming off of one of the busiest, most stressful few months in my professional history. I’m ready for next week, but first, I am so beyond in need of a weekend that involves fruity drinks and maybe a foot massage.

Happy weekend!

Van Morrison

31 comments September 20th, 2007