i took my heart to san francisco, chapta 3

a.k.a. bouchon, 6534 washington street, yountville, ca

fog or no fog it's scary as hell to photograph the golden gate bridge whilst driving across it.

you know how i know going to napa must be like going to heaven? because it's 80 degrees and sunny as you get past the bridge. curious weather phenomenon of the bay and the valley, low pressure, warm air getting trapped, blah, blah, blah.

gracious me and speaking of fog, i feel one of those nasty delayed hangovers coming on. entering sonoma, viansa winery and marketplace captures my wandering eye. i can have a picnic here, signs indicate. in exchange for buying two bottles of wine per couple. [seriously. does everyone have to be a couple?]

right now i need a picnic like you read about. and a view with some vitamin d shining down, making girl brown. the property is breathtaking really. wandering aimlessly-yet-adorably through the market/wine tasting room i realize i can't stomach any wine. how very sad to be in wine country without my big girl panties on.

crap i can't focus. i settle for a baguette and brie. most importantly i got a requisite handle on some pellegrino. and, so the winecops didn't come after me, i sprung for a $45 sangiovese for 14.5. i hope he appreciates my thinking of him, especially since he better-dealed me. [and what, btw, could be better than this day?]. boys are silly.

for 45 minutes i bask in the rays, overlooking a valley of endless rows of grapevines. the grapes are small right now, barely recognizable babies. but the grapeleaves are full and lush, providing a stunning view for my picnic. i don't mind an iota that the cutest couple is having a picnic next to me. nor do i mind there's a family of 8 just over yonder livin it up. i stretch my legs out for some quiet peaceful sun [paying no mind to the flocking birds eyeballing my baguette. i can't even be bothered when i realize my table resembles a jackson pollock spattered with bird doo-doo]. ahhhhh. this is the life. i wonder what the poor people are doing today.

yountville: this is where i stay when i come to the napa valley. in fact, i have a room reserved for me here tonight, because my original plan was to spend the night in napa. 14.5 was invited, but plans for golf got in the way [see chapta 2]. his hardsell tactic to come back to sf and join him and another couple for dinner probably worked, evidenced by the fact that i have already secured my suite at the ritz for the night.

snuggling amongst thousands of acres of vineyards yountville is tiny and just a pleasantly sweet curb-free road of restaurants and shops and inns, including michael chiarello's bottega, napastyle and thomas keller's french laundry. it's my dream to eat at the french laundry. i called in a favor to get a reservation this trip but no joy. too last minute - you really have to get reservations two months out and even though i have some notable connections, i couldn't manage it.

next best, i pop in to thomas keller's bouchon bistro. charming inside and out. so welcoming. psych myself up i do, to go eat by myself for the first time ever.

did i mention, i spent 5 hours on the plane mapping out my wine tour plan? due to hangover and late start to my day, i have wholly abandoned it for bouchon the bistro. belly up to the bar.

the bartender, jeremy, is a sweetiepie. what's a cute girl like you.... geez, i can't think, jeremy, just make me a bloody mary please and then you can ask whatever you like.

his hangover theory is you have to start with what you ended with: white wine. no way, man. no can do. this is the kind of day where only a bloody mary can hook a sistah up.

so i'm at a thomas keller restaurant for the first time ever and not hungry. you think that's gonna stop me? i've read that you must order the bibb lettuce salad at bouchon. i do. please add crumbled roquefort. jeremy suggests i also get the salmon tartare, as does man at end of bar. ok. send them to me. my salad, it's superb. little sprigs of surprise tarragon tucked in between layers. it's perfectly dressed. like me.

jeremy gets annoyed with me when he finally finds out i'm a cook. and formerly for michel richard. he's kind of pissed at me "michel comes in here all the time, why didn't you say something?"

well i don't want to be a name dropper. how trite.

my salmon comes. it's a pretty dish. it needs salt. i think it has gelatin in it but jeremy denies this.

something is binding it together perfectly damnit, jeremy, what is it? for the love of young boys without direction or money living in group houses in napa, what's in the salmon tartare?

next thing i know the kitchen sends me the red wine poached egg with sweetbreads and wild mushrooms. it's about to be removed from the menu. so rich, i'm so full. so yummy.

for dessert they send me a tiny bouchon (chocolate brownie with melty gooey chocolate chips in it), normally it comes with three on the plate. i asked for a "tasting". oh my - i could've forgone everything for three of these. not really. no really.

"would you like a tour of the kitchen?" jeremy asks. hmm, let me think. does a one-legged frog hop in a circle? i'm wildly excited by this. i know that's odd to the readers; but to me it's like going back stage at a concert. he's off to arrange it when thomas keller himself walks in. the thought of meeting thomas keller sends shivers. i'm all palms sweaty nervous, heart pounding. i can't think of anyone i'd rather meet. well, matt damon would be slightly above thomas. especially if he was single.

i don't get to meet thomas because he's gone just as soon as he'd arrived. i do enjoy a mesmeric tour of the kitchen. which is brand new. and quiet. and clean. the walk-in houses same-sized containers labeled with green tape the contents and the date. all containers lined up just like the perfect rows of grapevines. 90 degree angles. not a sprig of thyme out of place. i should inform you that there are some hotttiesss workin in that kitchen. i'm drawn to guys with knives or guitars, which you already know.

a measly $28 tab and a considerable 4 hours later i'm on the way to my next stop. my day's not over. not by a long shot. i have to make a stop at my inspiration and the reason i'm a chef today. my muse.

sorry this one was so long-winded, friends. please bear with.

i took my heart to san francisco, chapta 2

disoriented, i wake up in my absurdly luxe pad to the doorbell. room service at 6:45 am seemed like a good idea the night prior because i can't function until i'm mainlining the french roast. that was before i knew i'd be whoopin it up til three. my $30 pot of coffee was magically here, delivered by an angel of the ritz. actually i think the coffee was $23, but the cream was $6.50. [they do provide a single rose with your coffee, for free]. it's exceedingly early; i hop back into cushy big bed for a little more sleep. as tired as i am, the little hamster's on his wheel racing. i think, what have i done? bygones. more importantly, what am i going to do?

let me just say too that i'm asked if i regret prior night. i find that question to be a really peculiar one. gimme a chance to wonder if i regret it, man. it's too damned early. briefly i'm wondering if i do. should i? am i to discover something that'll make me regret? regret is a word we could all live without. do i wish i handle things differently sometimes? well, of course. regret? not so much. i beat myself up for too many things as it is. i'm not gonna beat myself up for maybeperhapsalittlethoughishouldn'tbe liking this person. not today anyway. i'll save that for later.

i've got places to go today: sonoma and napa. alone. by myself. and spend the night in a quaint but luxurious spot called velaggio, in yountville. this could be the most grown-up day so far in the life of miss tye, guest, ritz-carlton san francisco. i've scheduled this because i cannot and will not go within 45 minutes of napa and not go to napa. 14.5 put the hard sell on me last night to at least come back and join for dinner. today, he's playing golf with some very important people. or some such nonsense. practically every guy i've ever dated is a golfer. i think it's weird if a guy doesn't golf, even if he's a really bad golfer. [annoyingly i am always attracted to good golfers, i.e. addicts.]. however, being a golfer also makes for some really ill-timed interferences in life. such a fine line that golf thing.

i have slight apprehension about the day ahead. i've never eaten at a restaurant by myself. i don't do anything by myself that is more socially acceptable doing in groups of two or more [pretty much]. i'm excited, but can i handle it? what will people think of the wine tour girl all by her lonesome? maybe i'm on what was to be my honeymoon. but i got left at the altar. maybe i'm a food and wine expert conducting research. maybe i'm a local, enjoying the day off. i can be anything i want today i suppose. i think i'll just be a stylish cute foodie taking it all in.

did i mention that i have for some time secretly believed the man of my dreams lives in napa? i do, i really do. he looks like a young sun-kissed robert redford and owns a boutique vineyard, that only produces 3000 cases a year, but is highly acclaimed. you have to be in one of those clubs to acquire his wine. there was a feature on him in food and wine magazine. for once i don't care he wears old cowboy boots. he'll never sell out and get mondaviberinger big. he's just looking for a little lady to join him in his dream. this notion squashes any anxiety i have because i do believe in fate. i also believe you have to put yourself in the way of it.

my car arrives at 9 am. when you stay at the ritz you can order a rental car to be delivered at specified time. they handle everything. except the cost of course. and hertz doesn't bring guests of the ritz those wimpy and embarrassingly small subcompact jobbers, no offense if you drive one, but i'm a big car kind of gal. suv all the way {i did turn down the lincoln navigator, before you think i'm shamelessly wasteful and vain}.

firstly i'm going for a run, which i'm real intimidated by and certainly don't feel like it. because leaving the ritz if you look to your left: huge hill. look to your right: 90 degree angle hill. i'm so tired. i think my head hurts just a tad. poor me.

not.

for the love of burt lancaster, birdman of alcatraz i'm at the ritz. no time for poor babies.

so, i'm off like a prom dress - or in my case - lbd - for what promises to be the shortest run in history. i'm tired, not feeling too great. somehow - and it must be my fabulous ipod mix, called "marathon" - i accomplish 4 miles. the streets of san francisco look menacing - but they're not as bad as you think. upon my return, i see 14.5 at concierge, so i turn down the ipod's blaring volume. he's saying something about his friend being a chef so he wants to go somewhere really good. nice. making plans to impress me behind my back. this is delightful. but don't read too much into it.

i haven't mentioned yet that it's f-ing freezing in san fran. this i do not remember from my last trip. i am ill-equipped for cold weather, having packed nothing but super-cute summer dresses. today i am wearing a darling blue and gold tibi circa 2008 to go wine touring. getting my car, i hit the road in search of the golden gate bridge. i heart san fran. and the ritz. and those guys in top hats.

i took my heart to san francisco, chapta 1

for some time now i've been wanting to revisit both san fran and napa valley. haven't been in three or four years. recently an occasion presented itself to get my little behind out there. so i hopped into a taxi, onto a few planes and there i was, some silly 9 hours later. what was i thinking not flying direct? thank goodness for 10-minute manicure and massage at jfk. a good way to kill time fyi. (though the massage is a tiny bit creepy and painful, beware. i'd like someone to try the teeth-whitening and get back to me.)

you should know firstly that i'm meeting a boy there i haven't seen or spoken with in 14.5 years. and 14.5 years ago i spent all of 36 hours with him. not really "with him", gutterbrains, just staying at his place in pensacola florida with a couple of my girlfriends for a crazy new year's eve way back in 1994. to say he is/was an acquaintance is accurate.

weird, absofreakinlutely, but thanks to facebook, you can befriend someone and moments later find yourself checking in at the ritz-carlton san francisco in search of what, hoping for what, if anything. who knows. me, i'm simply going to enjoy the sights, sounds and food one of my favorite places on earth has to offer. crazier things have been done by more educated people than me for less money. right?

i'm gonna go ahead and be honest and say there was a teeny tiny part of me hoping for a great love to be ignited here in san fran. what's more romantic? you never know what can happen. and san fran has been known to ignite. i like to call this being skeptimistic. you probably call it futile but those of you who think i'm a cold-hearted unromantic buffoon might be wrong about me.

as you well know, "give it a whirl" is my life's motto. who wouldn't cougar-pounce at the chance to visit sf and napa for a couple of days and stay at the ritz?

do you know how cool it is to have a hottie in a top-hat and tails open the door of your taxi? i could get used to it. i could. i'm not lying.



well, get this. i'm checking in with the ritz-angel and she informs me they've upgraded my room to a suite. hearing this, i'm doing the white girl cabbage patch dance on the inside. but i have to maintain the level of reserved sophistication one expects of a ritz-carlton guest so i smile and thank the kind woman as if it happens all the time. i do like being referred to as ms. tye. (normally i prefer miss, but i probably look a little haggard after the long flight.)





holy mother of steve mcqueen, this suite is pimpin. once inside i can unleash the dance i've been dying to do since walking through the brass doors of this superswank. and i do. i can run and jump and if i was more limber i could do three backflip pikes and a backflip tuck with a 1/2 twist down the center of this suite. i feel like a little girl. an unsupervised little girl in a huge phat p. diddy suite. i'm so lucky sometimes. someone remind of this next time i'm bitching and moaning about life not being fair.

anyway, enough about this room. suffice it to say i feel like a rockstar and all future hotel stays will likely pale in comparison.

so boy, whom i haven't seen in 14.5 years arrives shortly after i do. he pops up for a hello cocktail before going to dinner. i'm not too nervous answering the door (my suite has a doorbell btw - you can't hear knocking from the back bedroom), though it feels a little like that show, the ugly duckling, when they do the big reveal after the girl gets teeth implants, chin/cheek implants, boob job, tummy tuck, lipo, butt lift, etc. opening the door, nervous, do i look cute to him?

yes, of course i do. duh.

choking down a red bull and vodka lindsay lohan style (i know, what a loser, but hey, i'm exhausted and have a long exciting evening ahead, i can't be yawning), he enjoys a cocktail from my minibar. $12 for an ounce of grey goose and $4 for a bottle of tonic. hmm. oh hell you only live once [me i went for the cheapo $7.50 absolut and $4 red bull]. i am hostess with the mostest so i'm happy to part with $16 for his cocktail [better be damn good though]. sometimes i think it's funny that i look at the prices of things at the mini bar and then don't blink an eye spending a mortgage payment on a bag. indeed a reckless spender i am.

later we meet in the lobby to head off to san francisco's slanted door. a much-talked-about resto located in embarcadero at the restored ferry building. prime location. perfectly lighted, hip vibe - bustling and lots of energy and loud in a cool way. a mix of young, old, stylish and not so fashionable, dates and groups. it's uber-casual - waiters have jeans on. i like that the guy from 14.5 years ago notices and appreciates the chairs in the resto. how observant [and girly]. i believe it would be considered asian-fusion by some, though it's not overly so. i would say it's clearly influenced by the euros as well as the asians. either way, i'm thrilled to be seated in a booth on a platform with a great view of most of the spacious dining room. slanted door is one of those places it's cool to say you've been.

waiter suggests we each choose an app and split an entree. boy from 14.5 years chooses the wood oven roasted manila clams and i choose the kona kampachi. both are delicious - the clams really have a lovely woody flavor. the raw fish is unquestionably fresh and light.


we ask the waiter to choose our entree. neither of us is picky and clearly i'm adventurous or i wouldn't be here in the first place. he brings us grilled grass-fed Anderson Ranch rack of lamb with tamarind sauce (i love tamarind but don't taste it too much here to be honest. damn). it's delicious, not too lamby- i've never heard of lamb from oregon [and i'm happy to hear about it - we need more lamb states]. he pairs with it a pinot from oregon. ponzi vineyard, chehalem mountains, 2007. oregonian lambs drink oregonian wine - that's why they go so well together.

we're happy with this dinner. i don't notice much the goings-on around. you can't when someone asks what you've been doing the past 15 years. this requires focus on the conversation at hand. daunting, no?

back into a taxi to my new home sweet home. you know i hadn't a clue what to expect from this meeting. boy in question's on a rebound like kobe bryant. i have less than zero expectations. since nice girls like me don't kiss or not kiss and tell, i'll leave the rest of the evening to your imaginations. btw, did i mention i have a kickass bose ipod docking station in my suite?

p = mv

one of my friends/readers keeps asking me to post miscellaneous stories of funny events that happen - more specifically sans food and for the love of tom ford, devoid of anything related to fashion. and to please be more succinct. well firstly, you can kiss my creamy saffron grits. i can't help that i'm long-winded. i've got a lot to say.

this one's for you, friend.

i dread a trip to costco. i really avoid it but sometimes ya gotta go. if i went more often, smaller trips would be more manageable. this trip is a must though. and it's gonna be a doozy.

i'm at costco yesterday. i knew i had to buy enough soda and water alone to fill an entire cart. i hate the idea of having to get one of those huge, flat, unwieldy carts for "professionals" or whatever they're for. you know, the ones that you put 100 lbs of dogfood on or 10 cases of soda and then struggle to maneuver it around the people who go strictly to fill up on bull$hit snacks at costco. [i don't judge people for the most part, but why in the sam hill do people stand in line for a sliver of a nuked bagel bite or a shot of monster energy drink. i'm so judging you. get a life.]

i picture myself trying to drive that thing and think, i'd rather fill up a cart, check out, take the sodas to my car, then re-enter costco for the remaining items on my ever-loving grocery list.

instead, i called an audible, and decide with some clever packing i can make it happen in just one trip. in fact all that water, sparkling water, ginger ale, sprite, diet sprite, coke, diet coke, et al. did fill the cart.

i go about my annoyedmerry way, questioning this decision somewhat, but plowing through. eventually this cart's so damn full i can't see anything in front of me. i'm nearly mowing people down because i can't see them standing in line for diced processed cheeses with toothpicks. like mice, they have no idea they're in harm's way.

at this point, the in-cart mass i've accumulated, plus the velocity at which it's traveling causes this crazy train to gather uncontrollable momentum. it takes so much force to push the cart that once it gets going, all bets are off. people better stay outta the way of this thing.

next thing you know, the cart crashes itself into a gigantuous corner display of alli, you know the diet drug that makes you {well i needn't go into that here}....i just hope people weren't thinking that's where i intended to go next. the cart just wouldn't go after that. i had to call in for back up. like when a metro bus breaks down on the highway and another has to come rescue it, all the passengers have to deboard and get on a new bus.

cool. what a joyous day of shopping. thought ya might like that one.

le menu

my life pretty much revolves around food. food is my life. it's not always my best buddy but we usually get along quite well. i'm either thinking about it, preparing it or eating it when i'm awake. and perhaps in my sleep, who knows.

(of course, in reality my friends and family are most important to me but until y'all start paying my bills....)

a relatively interesting thought has entered my pea brain. i think my eating habits are curiously akin to my dating habits/lovelife/escapades.

wtf, jt? let's discuss, shall we?

as you may know i'm an appetizer girl. mostly. i like to get a couple different things from the appetizer menu so i can taste more than one thing. and i'm not referring to jalapeno poppers or mozzarella glue sticks, sampler platters or any of that tgi-applebees bullhonkery. i appreciate a refined and sophisticated snack. usually it's lighter fare that doesn't bog you down and leave you feeling like a big fat stupid tick in need of a gurney.

because as you know, once you order the entree, that's all you have. and for many, you're ok with that. i'm ok that you're ok with that. i wish i was too. i resolve to be more like you. if only i could find one that i love. a lot of people order an entree and though they're not perfectly happy with it never stop to think - this isn't really all that great, in fact, it sucks. they've shoved the whole thing into the old piehole and washed it down with drink of choice.

but come on, the problems that can arise with an entree are copious.

what if you don't like the sauce with the meat?
what if the risotto gets stiff half way through your meal?
sometimes the asparagus is overcooked and slimy. nast.
sometimes the carrots are undercooked, and cwunchy vegetables are for wabbits.
what if you have your eye on the chateaubriand but goshdarnit it comes with hen-of-the-woods mushrooms and you hate mushrooms? oh yeah and there's no substitutions.
what if the whole damn dish is bland and there's no salt on the table?

and for the love of paula dean and giada delaurentiis, what if you finally decide on something only to find out they just sold the last one?!

so many things can go wrong with the entree, yet you've committed to it. and so there you are. f-ed.

it's so stressful for me. i usually have the waiter choose.

not appreciating your entree, you start looking around the table checking out the other dishes. you study whether friends are enjoying their meals or if something's wrong there too. is his tenderloin still hot? are so and so's pommes puree creamy? rats, you think, i shoulda ordered that. can i have a bite of your {blank}?

next thing you know you're not-so-subtly gazing at neighboring tables to see if what they have looks better than what you ordered. you think, perhaps yes. now you're full-on questioning your decision, beating yourself up for making the wrong choice, secretly wishing you had a do-over but too nice to say something, you've eaten half of it and you can't send it back. i'm thinking maybe it's just me and i'm picky [i am a chef you know]. you might even leave, bitching about the place, recommending that others not order an entree.

hell, i'll just run by mcdonald's on the way home.

that's on the one hand.

the other side of me - the crap-i-can't-decide-on-anything-so-i'll-get-it-all side of me loves to order what's known as a chef's tasting menu. 3, 6, 9, 13 courses. bring it. and i'll also take the wine pairing for $300.

why, you ask? why spend all that time and money on one meal? you're crazy. well {yes, i am but you already know that} aside from being a chef who loves to be inspired by others' cooking, i think that the tasting menu is a symbol of hope.

yes, yes, i've gone all sappy and sweet on you.
so un-jt. so un-jennifertye [my newest nickname, wink].

stay with me on this: when you order the tasting menu, if one little thing isn't to your liking, it doesn't spoil the entire meal.

the next item you know is coming will be better and the next dish even better and so on and so forth, culminating with the best damn thing you've ever put in your mouth. hopefully. i mean, that's the idea. these multi-course dinners have more flavors and textures and layers than you could ever really understand. perched on top is something crunchy, whimsical and fun and unexpected. and wonderful. and delicious. merry happy food smile. i still savor a couple tasting menus i had to this day.

quite deliberately, the tasting menu is designed to be a symphony that leaves you completely sated. {after these multi-course outings, just make sure you work out or you'll turn into a big fat ass and believe me, your dinner partner(s) didn't bargain for that}.

lastly i guess what i'm secretly notorious for is complete and utter indulgence in one thing. like nutella. or peanut butter. or chocolate chips. cookies, cake, ice cream with treasures in it - a la ben & jerry's anything. the whole jar, pint, box, whatever. in one sitting. to the point of being disgusted and frankly, sick to my stomach after such an endeavor. then i have to vow off that thing for an undetermined amount of time, til i fall off the wagon again.

showing restraint with some dishes isn't possible i think. when really if i just allowed myself a taste of something regularly i wouldn't go crazy when i got a hold of it and eat the whole blinkin thing. dieting/dating 101, right?

what's my point? bollocks, i haven't the foggiest.

i can't decide if i'm looking for that one extraordinary entree and i just need to realize it, embrace it and stop expecting it to be perfect because it probably is perfect the way it is. perhaps it's a nicely prepared rack of lamb? tony's original crust frozen pizza {extra crispy crust}? a corn dog with mustard? something that surprisingly makes me happy every time.

or should i hold out for the french laundry - the mac daddy of all tasting menus?

whack-a-mole

you know that game at the fair.

squash-a-squirrel
bonk-a-badger
spank-a-gopher

call it what you will.

i call it trying to find someone dateable for more than one to three hours. if i'm lucky a yummy summer romance that leads to happilyeverafter.

trying to find a love interest is like whack-a-mole. by process of elimination [of vermin], i'm gonna find that perfect-for-me guy {i think his name is matt damon but he keeps having babies with ben affleck's former assistant}.

truth be told, i have no game but somehow i continue to meet people here and there and give it a whirl. anyway, you meet 'em, chat with 'em, go out with 'em, and then...

just whack 'em down, one by one until you're exhausted and your hand-eye coordination is wiped out and you lost all your quarters to this silly game leaving the fair empty-handed-but-fat from funnel cakes and indian tacos.

if you win though, you get the biggest, fluffiest, snuggliest stuffed animal hanging on the wall - notably hanging just behind dirty, toothless carnie. a really good metaphor, don't you agree?

that's me still being positive.

so last night i whacked-another-mole in a roundabout sort of way. there's this fine fella i've been crushing on for 3 1/2 years who doesn't know i exist. it's kind of a joke amongst friends because i was so smitten when i met him way back when, i still bring him up like i have a chance in hell, fantasizing about my future with this guy. ok, well i'm exaggerating a bit.

jennifer cousteau sounds so cool, no? that's one of the few people i'd change my name for. that or damon. or jeter. or hyphenated to brady-favre, cuz it's just a pain in the rear to change your name with all the airline miles and such.

i even named my dog after him. {i know, i know, scary stalker.} silly girl.

silly but cute little blond girl dressed last night in a must-have purple calypso dress with golden jimmy choo flip flops. {happy sigh}

i went to a fundraiser-shopping event at bethesda's ginger boutique, 1) because it's my friend's store and i had the night off to go visit her and shop, 2) because possible mr. right was the headliner at this event and 3) opportunity to wear cute outfit - see above.

i quickly realize there's a problemo, he was swarmed by taller and more aggressive crushers. i did get asked by someone to take her picture with him. i really really don't have any game - trying to play it cool gets you no where fast. i annoy myself.

crap. time's running out. i have to act now or he's gonna leave soon. plus i'm awkwardly lingering around the store like a total hangeroner, probably on glass of wine number 3 or 4. so as he's bidding good evening to my friend, i make my move. "you know, now that i think about it, i've met you before." "really, where?.... wow, that's great, that's my favorite restaurant, i've been there many times."

[i haven't the foggiest clue who the hell you are].

and that was that, mr. cousteau was off to dinner/next event/better deal.

for the love of all the creatures in the ocean, i need a list of things to say when these once-in-a-lifetime moments happen upon me.

three years later, he's still super-cute and charming but i got over him last night. it's liberating. whacked another mole down and know mr. really right is still runnin' around out there somewhere.

p.s. i can't say his name anymore without thinking of my dog. and that's so not hot; can you imagine?

creepy caller part deux

one person almost always thinks the date went better than the other. pessimistic attitude? no - realistic, friends. come on, i've been doing this a while.

i've dated a lot of frogs hoping [hopping?] to find my prince: online tom cruise look-a-like who looked like a troll in person, to girl-hands, text-a-holic, narcissist, tattered t-shirt, jean short-wearin' with tevas dude, gold-necklace, bragasaurus rex, personalized license tag guy, expensive bill-splitter, up-front porsche parker, do ya want me to go on?

date from the mall evidently thinks our date was a success. me, i know i was right about it being a failure. creepy caller (that's what i'm referring to him now as) struck again last week.

he called last tuesday to see if i could do lunch saturday. i knew the moment i received that voicemail that i would be busy cooking for a party of 60 that day. and if i wasn't i would've been busy doing something else, like balancing my checkbook, something i haven't done since high school. or brushing my dog to rid him of the shedding fur.

rudely, i didn't return the call til friday to inform date i was busy saturday. "oh well i organized a surprise for you in hopes of kidnapping you for lunch." props for good planning which is rare in this dating age, however, if you don't know whether someone thinks you're sketchy, never use the word kidnap as a descriptor for getting you on a date.

i explained how i was going to be really busy the next couple of weeks but asked what the surprise was. i should've acted like i didn't care but when you act aloof, people fall in love with you and i sense i'm already running that risk here.

"you women always have to know about surprises."

ugh, strike #142. gimme a break, man. like you know about women. you don't know bo diddly jackson about me, mistah.

surprise was he bought tickets for a lunch cruise on the odyssey. if you don't live here, you don't know what the odyssey is. if you do live here, you're collectively expressing a sigh of relief for my not going on this date.

the odyssey, it's an eyesore of a boat (pictured here, it looks cool, but trust me on this one) that runs up and down the potomac - strictly for tourists - serving way less-than-mediocre food in a crowded atmosphere of old people and uncreatives who can't tour the sites on their own, on foot or even on the duck bus/boat. it's the equivalent to one of the double-decker buses, only i'd rather be on that because at least you're not trapped indoors looking through a green-colored glass amongst the stench and chattery of hording tourists. there are way better ways to see the sights of dc.

a three-hour tour. a three-hour tour.

holy mother of foie gras. imagine my horror if i had snuck away for lunch on a day i was catering a party for 60 people only to find out it was going to be a three-hour ordeal with an inappropriately dressed horse dentist. he would've gotten a surprise of his own - the wrath of an overbusy, over-tired wack job having a full-on mental breakdown. i'm not joking.

did i mention he lives in the boonies/'burbs one hour from dc? this was strike #1, but i was "giving it a whirl" just to see if the man of my dreams was living in leesburg virginia and i didn't know.

i think i did mention that i said i was busy for the next couple weeks. much to my happiness, he understood and told me to call him when i came up for air so we could get together again. "ok," i lied. why is it so hard to tell someone you're just not into him?

he called sunday to see when i was available. what the huh?

i hit the ignore button. it was my day off. from work, from horse dentist, from lying and feeling guilty about it.

that date woulda made for a great blog, don't get me wrong, but this is one i'm so not taking for the team. sorry.