This weekend Brad took me to The Melting Pot for dinner. Naturally, I was beside myself with excitement. While we were there, I asked him if it’d be okay if I substituted the beer (yuck) they pour into the cheese fondue (::ahhh::) for a vegetable broth, because that’s what I had done last time I ate there.
He said that was cool with him, just as the waiter came over and said, “So, I see you’ve been here before. Well, one of you,” and smled at me. Continue reading
Okay, so I always knew I had a little teeny tiny jealous streak in me. But today, because of a guy, I considered kicking the ass of an 18-year-old girl. And that made me realize two things. (1) I’m am super-duper, need-to-chill-out jealous and (2) I’m too old to fight 18-year-olds. Not because it’s immature or anything to throw down in the middle of the street — just watch the Jersey Shore (kidding), but I just don’t have the stamina in my old age.
I mean, think of what you could do at age 18 that you just can’t do anymore. The alcohol you could consume, the hours you could stay awake, the miles you could run. Okay, I’ve never ever ran miles. But you get the point. Plus she’s a dancer. Ever see the leg muscles on a freaking dancer? One Hulk Hogan wrestling move where she gets one of those things wrapped around me and I’m gone. She’ll snap me like a pretzel. Should have kept me in dancing school when I sobbed and begged to quit when I was 4, Ma! Come on!