A lot has changed with me in the past year. I had an unexpected career change and now work full time in a bar. Follow what I learn from being around drunk people at;
We all know that there is some chemical imbalance in the female brain that makes us crave sugar; not only do we seem to have an insatiable hunger for a big ol’ slice of chocolate cake, but we also have a constant longing for a sweet-as-pie man… or at least I do.
It seems to follow the same pattern, I think that my whole world would be better if only I could find that sweetness of a man who is a gentleman and treats me like the cupcake that I am (ha). So I go on first date after first date searching for the sweetest slice of man.
The last potentially perfect dude asked me out and wanted to make me dinner at his place. Now I am well aware that the “Let me cook for you” first date is often just a ploy to become the “Let’s have sex for dessert” first date. However, I’m not naïve and the word “No” is in my vocabulary so I graciously accepted the dinner date offer because maybe, just maybe he could turn out to be the sugar that I think I need in my life.
I get to his house and he greets me with a glass of wine, he is wearing an apron and looking adorable. As he finishes the cooking, he explains to me that he is making an authentic Liberia meal. He tells me how he was careful not to make it too spicy because he wasn’t sure what I would like (awww) and that his mom taught him how to cook when he was just a lil’ guy (awww again)! We sit down to eat and he dims the lights and puts on French background music. He is super attentive, says all the right things and makes excellent small talk. After dinner, we go into the other room, he gets his guitar out and starts singing, he’s actually good. He compliments me, invites me to go out with him and his friends the next night and at no point gives me the infamous “tour” of his bedroom. I keep trying to find the sour or salty part of this guy and it doesn’t seem to be there, the only thing I can find is sweetness, pure sugar, and all of a sudden it hits me. I get sugar sick.
The exact feeling that comes after eating too much cake is the same feeling that I got from Mr. Sweet Slice; all of this sugar was just too much. I needed something salty, I needed a piece of lemon, I needed to get out of there.
I told him that I forgot that I had to be somewhere (lack of creative excuses is another symptom of sugar sickness) and left abruptly.
Turns out I like my men to have a bitter side, which is good because too much sugar is never satisfying and just leaves a girl sick.
Sometimes I get into situations or learn something that I can’t believe I had no idea about before. Example; how difficult it is to be a foreigner in a country where you only know 5 words in the language. Other things that fall into this category; how and when to change the filter in the furnace…or actually the fact that you have to change it at all.
When I got the chance to go to Brazil for a few weeks I took it immediately (obviously) and didn’t think twice. I only had about a week to get ready/pack and any attempts I made at studying Portuguese ended up being failed attempts. I was going to be staying with my sister-in-law, Michelli and thanks to being one of the minority white girls in high school I’m surprisingly proficient in Spanish so I assumed that I would be fine.
The first stop we made after I touched down was the neighborhood bar in Rio. “Donde esta el baño?” I asked the bartender. I got a blank star as a response. Michelli pointed out my ignorance at thinking that all South American countries speak a form of Spanish and also for assuming that Portuguese and Spanish were at all similar. I learned that first day that Portuguese actually sounds like a mixture of Russian and German splashed with Japanese inflection and is nothing like the Puerto Rican style Spanish that I know. Still, I wasn’t worried because at least I had Michelli.
Well…let me tell you, Michelli was the only person I had. Being in a place where no one speaks the language that I do was a huge wake up call. How egotistical am I to think that the whole world speaks at least a little bit of English? Going into a store alone was a struggle, ordering at restaurants on my own got me the exact opposite of what I wanted to eat and going to parties where I had no one to talk was really lonely. It made me realize how difficult it is to be somewhere and have no idea what is going on around you.
I have a whole new understanding and respect for my friends that were thrown into American schools when they didn’t speak any English (shout out to Margaux). Being a foreigner is something we should all experience, just make sure that you are at least armed with the basics like; “Where’s the bathroom”, “I think you’re cute”, and “Gin & tonic please.”
I have a confession to make. I like to brag about how talented I am at making omelets and how they are better than any other omelet you can order anywhere. This, I have to say is mostly true.
The reason I like to over hype my eggs is because I can’t really cook much else. Maybe can’t isn’t the right word…but let’s just say that I don’t try. I’ve been fortunate enough to be around other people that most definitely can and do cook so I never really have to step up to the stove very often.
By far the best of the best (biased? maybe!) is my brother. He worked in the test kitchen for Gourmet until the magazine’s untimely death a couple of months ago. I wouldn’t say I am a picky eater, but I’m definitely not what you would call adventurous. I will try anything Ian makes because I know that it will be prepared scrumptiously.
Ian recently broke his ankle and needed a little help in the kitchen, so I offered to cook our family’s dinner with his guidance and schooling. My only stipulation was that we had to make lobsters.
Here’s how it turned out.
My life tends to be pretty bizarre; it seems like I am constantly getting tangled in weirdo situations, meeting the most eccentric/awesome people and ending up in super random places all by accident. It’s like I have a magnetic field around me that attracts extreme incidents of coincidence. Because I’m used to nonsensicalness I don’t get weirded out easily… but once in a while something so unexpected and inconceivable happens that I can’t help but to take a step back and wonder what it all means.
The other day, I got a comment on our post, Your Lovah Has A Girlfriend from a chick suspecting that she was the GF of one of the Lovah’s we mentioned. She asked for more information and my first thought was, “This girl is way too paranoid, but I’ll respond if it will put her mind at ease.” Not for a millisecond did I think she would actually be the GF. Minutes later I get an email back from her. Thoughts similar to; “Oh.My.God., this can’t be happening, and oh shit” ran through my head and my heart dropped down to my feet. She was the Girlfriend.
I felt bad for her, I felt guilty for seeing him as long as I did knowing that he was a Shady McShadester, and I empathized with what she was going through because in the past, I too have been the GF of a shady Lovah.
After we traded stories and details and after she confronted him and he denied it (surprise, surprise); I started to think about how if it wasn’t for the Internet, she would still be wasting her time on this moronic man-whore. This web of information is a pretty powerful thing and helped to provide much needed answers and proof that confirmed her suspicions.
Call it fate, call it intervention by the Internet Gods, call it coincidence… I call it kind of amazing.
This was the first Christmas in years that the majority of my immediate family (we missed you Michelli) were all in the same place. Last year they were divided between Mexico and Brazil, and I was left with temporary orphan status alone (don’t feel too bad for me, everyone else took pity and I got invited to more Christmas dinner’s than I could fit in my stomach).
Even though we decided to forgo presents this year because most of us are un/underemployed everything else was just like old times. I have to say I forgot how much I missed lounging around and eating cookies all day in a noisy house. It’s nice to get spoiled with MaDukes home cooked comfort food and be able to chill with my high school friends for the rest of the weekend.
I even got to see Jen, the other half of UrbanFairyTail, who recently decided to take a hiatus from Philly and do some soul/career searching in the ‘burbs (posts from her about observations on suburban house parties to come).
All in all, I couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas va-cay. Happy belated holidays to you & yours!