Err...what, Cosmo???

Being the social dynamo that I am, I am lying in my bed at 10:00pm on a Saturday night, flipping aimlessly through the June issue of Cosmo. Don't worry, I had a chance at a social life tonight-- my ex, Summer Romance, texted me up out of the blue at 11:57pm last night (yes, I was asleep then--I'm adjusting to the slower pace of home life after college, people, cut me some slack) to invite me to his bonfire tonight. That's right. Basically the ONLY ex of mine that I don't have a healthy and perhaps-weirdly-close relationship with just texted me out of the blue to invite me to his bonfire tonight, for his roommate (housemate? That sounds Australian) Jack's birthday. Let's discuss.

1. Pretttttty sure Summer Romance has a new gf. And has had one. For awhile. She's cute and looks nice and I am not a homewrecker. Especially since, unbeknownst to me, my whole relationship with Summer Romance wrecked the home of a co-worker of mine...very messy stuff.

2. When I texted him back to ask him if I knew anyone going to this bonfire? He responded, "A lil this, a lil that."

Um? Is that supposed to mean something to me? Can anyone translate? Did that answer my question? Perhaps most importantly, where did the t's and the e's in "little" go?

3. No, Summer Romance. I will not go to your bonfire. My boyfriend is very lovely and wonderful and understanding of my strange need to keep close friendships with my exes, but you treated me like ish, and he would not be okay with me, nor would I feel comfortable, going to your bonfire. But happy birthday Jack-- I always liked you, even though you probably had no idea what the hell was going on with our completely toxic relationship.

SO that's what we call a digression. The point....the point. Ah, yes. Cosmo.

So, there's a lot of things in Cosmo that are scoff-out-loud-slap-your-knee-ridiculous. Cosmo seems to love, for example, suggesting that girls do really strange things to their men's peeps. Things that make all the men I have shown the publication to run away or vomit in sheer, sheer horror.

But this issue has some sort of fun, and also some out-there, and most importantly non-peep related (I like to keep it PG-13 here on the ol' blog in case the fam ever decides to take it up some time) tidbits of info that I just had to share with you guys. Truly great stuff.

First of all, you may remember from this post that I like my men t-a-l-l tall. The Jolly Green Giant and I would be very, very happy together. All of my serious boyfriends have been taller than 6'0 (quite a contrast to my petite 5'4 frame), and in fact, when I think about it, I believe there very well may be a positive correlation between the tallness of boyfriend and how crazy about him I am/was. So anywhoodle, Cosmo has gotten some more super interesting stats on tall men v. short men. And their two examples? The strapping 6'2 Jason Segel (my future husband) and Kevin Connolly, who stands at a squirrely 5'8 (love Entourage, but sorry E.--we could never be). Apparently, tall men are more likely to be:

1. Popular-- "They are physically dominant, readily accepted into a group...and likely to command a room." (Please note: dramatic use of the ellipsis there is all Cosmo.)

2. Happy-- "According to the National Bureau of Economic Research, tall men report higher levels of life satisfaction." I thought it was a little odd that this info came from the National Bureau of Economic Research, but tidbit number three makes it all clear...

3. Flush-- "A study found that every inch amps up his salary by about $789 per year."

Two things: Flush? What does that mean? Do you guys use the word "flush" to describe men who earn more money based on being tall and smokin'? Secondly, that clearly explains why they're happier....and thus the NBER all makes sense.

As for our more vertically disinclined friends, well, apparently they're more likely to be

1. Sensitive-- "They develop this part of their personality to appeal to more women."

2. Sexual dynamos-- "Shorties are especially enthusiastic and attentive because they've had to work harder to attract and keep women."

3. Long living-- "They keep ticking almost five years past their taller counterparts."

These all, to me, just sound like ways of proving that "shorties" (their word, not mine--you saw it!) are better than tall men...by completely insulting the crap out of them. Touche Cosmo. Touche.

This month's mag also has a nice little chart of the US which lists the most and least....well endowed states. And yes, the dramatic ellipsis there was allll mine. In case you were wondering, New Orleans has the most well-endowed men, while ladies may want to think twice before moving to Dallas/Fort Worth. (Sorry Melissa, Natalie, CJR, Shine, and Liz!) (Jeez, is it weird that Dallas/Fort Worth bloggers comprise half my blogroll? Did I miss any?)

Okay, moving on. Katy Perry and Zooey Deschanel. So I googled it, and yep, definitely not the first person to notice this. A little sad about that. But basically, ohmygoshyouguysthey'rethesamepersonanditreallycreepsmeout. Well, almost the same person. If Katy Perry got a little angstier and decided to make indie films where she plays the same character all of the time (a good one! Just...the same...one...) rather than make catchy pop songs, then, THEN, they'd be the same.

Proof.

(Which one is which?!)

Alright, now that I've blown your minds. The next thing. "Brunet." This has been happening for awhile, and in fact I think I may have even included it in my angry letter to whoever designed the January cover of Cosmo that looked like Amanda Bynes and lemonade blew up and exploded everywhere.

And if I didn't...well. I meant to, but I was clearly too fired up about the cover. But I mean you guys. Come ON. It was hideous. But again I digress. Brunet just looks like an angry word. And though the phonetically pretty and aesthetically attractive "brunette" spelling reads in my mind the way the word is supposed to be pronounced (bruNETTE), this loppy and awkward spelling reads angrily and a bit German in my head (BRUNET!)

And finally. I've saved the best for last. Drum roll please.....

Hot pants.

Hot pants.

Are they shorts? Do they have to be really tight shorts to be considered hot pants? How short do they have to be? Is the requirement just "sufficiently slutty enough?" (I apologize to those of you who enjoy the hot pants. I promise I don't judge you. Only if you actually CALL them hot pants. Then, we can't be friends."

While I'm at it, I should probably issue an apology to Cosmo, in the off chance that I do ever seek employment at their fine publication. I love you guys. I promise. Just lay off the hot pants references and make up your minds about the spelling of "brunette." Oh, and I don't really care about how big men's peeps are in different cities, but points for running a graph on something other than cities with the highest level of unemployment. You're nothing if not refreshing...

(Completely...well...almost....unrelated: BREAKING NEWS. Just saw on the interwebs that The Devil Incarnate--er--Spencer, and Heidi, are separating! Oh happy day! This deserves its own post, since I have been fired up about how much I can't stand that d-bizzle for awhile [PLUS he's SHORT! ha!], and I know that everyone is super excited to read it soon.)

Daily Rituals and the Wonderousness of Indulgences

If you'd like, head over to my other blog, Seven Dames a Week, and read my contribution post to our theme week: Daily Rituals.

What are my daily rituals, you might ask? Well, I thought about it, and realized that my main ritual is talking myself OUT OF indulging in another ritual. Check out my post to see what it is! (Hint: It's not chocolate--because I'm allergic!)

What are your daily rituals? Do they also happen to be guilty indulgences that you try to talk yourself out of, but then just do anyway?

Graduation and the End of an Era

You guys may remember me mentioning Big Relationship. If you don't just click up on the "Who's Who" tab above to read a little bit about our history. It's a long one, and we've definitely remained as close as we have despite all the odds, but also because of them, I think. Our somewhat-unlikely yet enduring relationship passed another big milestone on Sunday, so I thought I'd dedicate a post to it, as a tribute, of sorts.

Four years ago, while we were still dating and while we, somewhat foolishly but completely earnestly thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, I watched Big Relationship graduate from high school. He was (well, still is, I guess) a year older than me and so the year after, while I would be entering my senior year of high school, he was heading to Brandeis for his first year of college. Thankfully, Brandeis was only about 45 minutes from our houses (okay, okay-- I've done it in 36 and gotten a ticket to prove it), so we were confident that we could make it work. And we did, for a year, until it was time for my graduation.


I was going to Williams, and, being three hours from Brandeis, the certainty of our relationship was a bit more unstable. I honestly thought we would make it work, but barely three months into my freshman year, we were over.

Fast forward to Sunday. There I was, sitting in the exact same spot I had sat in four years earlier when I watched Big Relationship graduate from high school. His mom and dad sat on one side of me, his aunt and brother on the other. I was in the exact same place I had been four years earlier...but I wasn't. Everything that possibly could have changed for us had changed between those two graduations; I'm dating L. and am completely in love with him, B. is single for the first time probably since he was 15 (when he first started dating me), he's moving to Portland next year for a job, and I'm planning on moving to Los Angeles next summer. The only thing that remained the same is that I sat there for both of the ceremonies, a little teary-eyed, and thought about our future. In high school, it was the hope we would and simultaneous fear we wouldn't make it through college. Last Sunday, it was the sheer overwhelming thankfulness that we managed to remain best friends after a crushing break-up, and once again the fear that as our college graduations take us further away from each other, he'll be out of my life for good. I couldn't get over the similarities of the two situations, paired with how different they really were. As my friend Andrew said, "You've got to write about that. You just don't find natural symmetry like that in real life."

Noted.

(Credit: this isn't my picture...swiped from B's facebook.)

Whether our friendship survives the next big change is yet to be determined, but I guess I just want to say how lucky I know I am to still be so close with my first love. Most people think our friendship is bizarre, and it is, but that's why it's so important to me.

Under Pressure

I hope that the Queen song began playing in your head upon reading the title of this post, as that was actually the intended purpose.

This week is not just any normal week, friends. For many reasons, but the main one being, of course, that it's Finals Week. When Finals hit, life as we know it at Williams comes to a standstill. I swear. It's kind of like how I imagine the day after a Zombie Apocalypse or a nuclear fallout would be. Suddenly, the dining hall is barren at 12:30pm on a weekday, with western music playing in the background and tumbleweeds blowing by, though the place is basically like Grand Central Station every other week at that time. That is, if all the trains suddenly got canceled and people had no place to go.

I just don't understand why people change so much during Finals week. Don't they still need to eat food? ALSO, what happens to clothes during Finals? As in, why are people incapable of wearing them? Williams goes from its usual sea of khaki pantsed, polo-shirted boys and sundressed girls to pajama pants and leggings faster than you can say "Holy butt lumps, Batman."

I don't know about these people, but at least for me, during Finals I still retain my humanity. Well, some semblance of it anyway. I've been known to snarl and snatch that last piece of candy in the libs or shoot daggers at people who order pizza to the libs. (It's distracting!) But it's okay because tonight L. brought me and C. chips and salsa and Ben and Jerry's in the libs since we're both suffering through studying for our Con Law final. But, I digress. It's the hunger talking. During Finals, I still manage to bathe, consume food at socially acceptable hours (and some not ones), and dress myself.

Some other out of the ordinary things happened this week. Last night, for example, Big Relationship came to visit since he's done college (!!!). I'm going to his graduation at Brandeis on Sunday on my way driving home, but for now he's working about 30 mins away for the summer so he came for dinner. (I know, I bet you guys didn't think there was ANYTHING for 30 mins in any direction around Williams. Shocker!) So I cooked dinner for the ex, Big Relationship, and the bf, L., and all L.'s and my friends. This alarms a lot of people, so I've given up trying to explain how this situation is in any way normal. But I think Big Relationship likes L., and L. at least pretends he likes him, and they're both very big part of my lives so they make nice with each other. PLUS, I made the most DELICIOUS orange chicken anyone has ever eaten, which was a really big deal. I barely cook Easy Mac in college because the kitchens are so grody/understocked, so you can imagine how I managed to fry little pieces of chicken and then cover them in a homemade orange sauce reduction. And all I had to do was google "orange chicken recipe like Panda Express." You think I'm joking. The only chinese food within 30 mins of Williams is a restaurant called Chopsticks, which basically serves lumps of crispy batter dunked in syrup and calls them orange chicken.

I spent an hour making dinner for myself and 8 boys, and when I disappeared for a second (to get Big Relationship a beer, no less! The perfect hostess), I came back to discover that the boys had nearly devoured the entire pan of food. Now I know how my mom feels on Thanksgiving. Sigh.

So, let's talk now about the fact that I've been writing out flash cards for the 120 cases I need to know for Friday's exam and my right hand is literally shaking uncontrollably. This blog post is actually painful to write...physically, anyway. I know more about emanations of penumbras of privacy and free speech than anyone really needs to know.

That reminds me of a funny story Prof C. told us in class. If you haven't discovered yet that I'm a little obsessed with Prof C., well, keep up with me. So anyways, Prof C. as you might remember is also a Williams alum, and after he had finished taking Con Law his freshman year, he went home to work at the Gap over Christmas break. If you knew him, you'd understand how funny this is. So anyways, at the Gap, apparently to prevent giant losses of products from people doing sneaky ish, the employees would have to take down names and addresses of people returning things. You get why; people walk in the store, walk out with something, and then bring it back to "return" it and get store credit or, even better/worse, a "refund." So anywhoodle, this ornery man refuses to provide Prof C with his address and name when Prof C. asked, and went on this huge rant about how he had a constitutional right to privacy that protected his giving his information to Gap store employees. This is like, Christmas EVE, keep in mind, and there's a holly-jolly line out the door, but Prof C. decides this is the perfect time to give the man an impassioned and chastising lecture on constitutionally-bestowed rights, and how holding your information from the wonderful employees of Gap is not actually among them. Thinking of 19-year-old Prof C giving this little lecture is heartwarming and cringeworthy at the same time. (For reference, this is a man who waves his pocket Constitution wildly when disagreeing with us in class, jumps on his desk for emphasis, and whenever he quotes John Marshall saying "Remember, this is a Constitution we are expounding!" he emphatically slams his fist down on the table/chalkboard/anything that will make a loud noise on the word "Constitution."

I didn't tell Prof C. that I accidentally stole a belt from the Gap once. That's a funny story too, though now I'm starting to feel guilty blogging when there's cases to be learned. But real quick--in 9th grade I was on a date with my first high school boyfriend, George, and we went belt shopping at the Gap for him. I found this orange and white one that I liked and carried it over to show up up to the front register, where he was already paying for another one, and then we walked out of the store, and it wasn't until we were almost at the car that I realized I was still blatantly holding the belt in my hands, and that I'd totally walked out without realizing, and what's more, without any of the store associates noticing. Then I was too mortified to bring it back, much to my dad's chagrin when I tried to regale my parents with the tale when I got home.

Prof C. wouldn't have let me get away with that.

Home is Wherever I Want it to Be

Happy Sunday everyone! If you'd like, head over to my other blog where I'm a guest writer, Seven Dames a Week, and check out my post on following your gut and creating the life you envision yourself living...even if others are a little unsupportive or even--gasp--judgmental...

Paloma's Jewelery

My friend P. makes the best jewelery. No lie. She's from Bolivia, so she gets real, quality, brand-name materials on the cheap for wayy less than they retail in the US, and she has great taste. Our freshman year, she made me the cutest pearl dangle earrings with a little gold feather hanging from the bottom. This year, as a belated birthday gift, she made me these gorgeous crystal-drop earrings:


Aren't they beautiful? And those are real, bona-fide Swarovski crystals. Pretty swanktastic, huh?

Aaaand, you guys are in luck. I've convinced P. that her talents are too numerous not to hone, so she's opened her own etsy shop to sell her handmade jewelery! She's still working on creating some one-of-a-kind pieces for the shop but it will be opening soon, and she and I are going to work together to bring you guys what will be my very first giveaway, so stay tuned for that! You don't want to miss out on getting Swarovski crystals and freshwater pearls to the tune of only $20 or so!

The Dress-- FINALLY!

I probably think you all are way more invested in my dress plight than you really are, so for that I am sorry. And what a plight it has been. There was the first one I found, with the beautiful cross-straps in the back and the gorgeous beading on the bodice:


But at $350.00, it just wasn't gonna happen. Heartbroken, I left it behind in Hawaii, only to think about it for weeks afterward. Isn't that the worst? When you KNOW you should have gotten something, and think you'll never find it again?

Then I stumbled upon its long-lost cousin: This Laundry by Shelli Segal look-a-like:


At $166.00, it was better, though certainly not a steal for my meager-college funds. I loved the beaded neckline but wasn't sure if the shift-like fit would be flattering or just look like I was wearing a shapeless bag. So I decided to keep looking.

Then, guys? It happened. I was just putzing around on the Express website since they were doing a 30% off offer that ended Saturday, and decided to see if there was anything that would be cute and cheap.

Oh, was there ever.

I stumbled upon this Belted Sleeveless Dress in Strawberry. The Bali color, which was a shimmery aqua, was cute too, but my mum is wearing a teal dress to the wedding so I knew to stay away from that. It was so classy, so punchy (which is what I was looking for, since a lot of colors can wash a brunette out), and so simple. Perfection.


Sorry the image quality is so poor--Express has a flash player so you have to copy and save thumbnails of their images, but GUYS. It is so perfect. The punchy coral color is decidedly springy, but perfect for a late summer wedding in San Diego. And though the ceremony is outdoors at dusk, the reception is later that night, inside. To to take the dress from springy to classy, there's that adorable black skinny leather belt, which comes with it.

At $70, the dress was already hundreds less than its competitors, but since I believe that great fashion should be gotten on the cheap (don't believe me? Check out this post and this post), I knew I could do better than that. The 30% off promotion brought it down to $57.00. Then, I used a $25.00 gift card I had laying around with no use for. The total cost? $32.o0. Can you IMAGINE how guilty I would feel now if I had purchased either of the designer dresses?

Now all I have to do is find a pair of cheap black peep-toe pumps and a chunky necklace, and we're in business!

Fun Between Finals

That time is upon us. Or at least me. And some of my fellow bloggers currently suffering through engaged in the process of higher learning. L. and I like to fight about who has it worse--me, being an English major with a pre-law concentration, having no real exams (except for my Con Law final...curse you Prof C.) but a million (okay, seven) papers, or L. having no papers but four big, fat, ugly science exams. I personally think the boy has it a little worse, but that's just because paper-writing is my greatest skill in life, and the idea of upper-level chemistry exams is about as appealing to me as getting hydrochloric acid poured all over me. (I tried to stay with the Chem imagery. Clearly.)

Now that I've handed off another collection of Michelle's Prattlings on Con Law (in this case, whether legislators and judges belong on our bedrooms and hospital rooms) to Prof C today, I have an approximately two-day break before my next doozie is due: a ten-pager on a Renaissance play. And no, friends, it's not Shakespeare. Cause that would be easy.

I'd like to try to have some fun in this gorgeous weather in between these two bookends of doom, aka final papers. Tonight is C.'s final a cappella concert of the year (and if you're wondering if all my friends sing a cappella...well, the answer is pretty much yes. It's kind of a big deal here at Williams). L. is also doing some singing this weekend--he's involved in a musical theatre revue that opened last night called "Moving Too Fast" about the joys of childhood and the pains of growing up. It was actually quite good--there were songs from You're a Good Man Charlie Brown, Spring Awakening, Wicked, Hair, A Chorus Line, and some other great shows. So when L.'s not busy "dancing through life" (anyone get the reference? That's the song he sings in the show), I'm hoping we can sleep in tomorrow, go to a bbq, and maybe bring a blanket outside to do all our end-of-the-semester work.

The weather has been BEAUTIFUL here in W-town, which is a pretty big deal since it generally snows until the end of April. But with beautiful weather comes hot rooms...and with hot rooms comes open windows...and with open windows come creepy crawly THINGS and then I freak out. Case in point: the other night L. and I were laying in his bed enjoying a quality episode of Gossip Girl, when all of a sudden I noticed about 10 fly-like things moving around on the ceiling. I freaked out and forced him to kill them all. This all comes after I've been waking up with these little red bites all over, so I'm convinced there are bedbugs afoot. Oh, and then the next night I picked a t-shirt up off the ground only to discover a brown, multi-legged, worm-type-thing stuck to it, so I cried for awhile and made L. take it away.

On second thought W-town, I wouldn't mind if you stayed cooler a little longer. Kisses, Michelle.

Home Sweet Frat House

Last night here at Williams College we had Room Draw, better known as Annual-Night-of-Despair. For those of you that remember that sweet sweet time of year known as room draw, you can probably agree that it's about as dramatic as it gets. Williams's "random number generator" really screwed the pooch the last three years and I've had less-than-prime housing. This year, I moved into L.'s neighborhood (Williams organizes its housing into four neighborhoods, each on a particular spot of campus with a particular cluster of dorms), Spencer, hoping that us and our friends could live together senior year...depending on our pick number. When we learned we got pick 6 (out of about 130), we had to wonder at first if someone screwed up along the way. We got a good pick? We weren't going to be living in broom closets-turned dorm rooms (yup)? L. wasn't going to have to live in the campus-wide accepted smallest room on campus? (Happened Freshman year).

This was all too much. Within our neighborhood, there were a couple okay options, but the one that stood out immediately was Spencer House, the most desirable senior housing on campus. This is the house that we walked by as freshmen, admiring its slew of common areas, spacious balconies (!) accessible from inside the rooms, and perfect position in the center of campus, and wondering if we'd have to sell our souls to the devil or maybe just mortgage them in order to live there when we were seniors.

And now?

We.Got.It.


Note: This is clearly a staged picture; there is generally a lot less patriotism and strategically-placed rose bushes surrounding the house. But this little beauty is essentially all ours. And that giant, party-ready balcony right there? Ours.

There's a third floor with a handful of doubles, and we don't know the random people living there. But on our floor, the second floor, we managed to somehow get three different groups of our friends who all happened to have the top 6 pick numbers into one super-awesome-giant floor of 12 people who all know each other really well:


The best part is that I get to live in the same building as L. and our guy friends (who live in the 6 suites, the 5 suites, and the 3 suites), but in my immediate proximity (the 2 suites and the 4 suites) are some awesome girls. In fact, Bianca, the girl I worked with at the art museum last summer, is living right in 2B, so we'll get to have a pretty, clean, nice-smelling, and generally ungross common room.

But guys? There's a slight problem. The group og guys who live in the 2 suites now? Well, let's just say they are some less than desirable folk. Like, really shady. We went up to take a look at the rooms yesterday, and it was like a straight-up drug den. For realsies. In my room, 2D, there was no bed, a broken window, broken glass everywhere, bottles and beer cans strewn about, and the smell? Kind of like what I'd imagine a chain-smoking hobo who slept in a keg every night would smell like.

The nice thing about college is that next year when I move in, the magical cleaning college fairies will have come in, patched the walls, removed the smell, fixed the window, and made a bed appear. But knowing it looks like this right now? I'm freaking out a little.

In true renovation spirit, next year that poor, defiled room is going to get a new lease on life. I'm going to take that broken-down 11' x 13' (cynical estimation) white box and turn it into the prettiest room you've ever seen. So wait for that.

Some Singing and Some Pasta

As I mentioned on Friday, L. had a solo in his a cappella concert, singing Love and Memories by O.A.R. Here's the rockstar now:



Pretty great, huh? The concert was super fun and, as you can hear, really high-charged with energy. That may or may not have been a factor of legitimate excitement to hear these cute boys sing, and the pregaming that most likely went on beforehand. C. and I collected money (Octet's tickets are "about a dollar") before the show and in return got specially reserved seats. The boys had a big party afterward which was okay, if not highly testosterone-charged. Senior Biology Major, who you might recall from this post, showed up and went on for awhile about how lucky I was to have someone, and he said he thought college was the best time to have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Having a boyfriend is great, I told him, but you get to meet all kinds of new people! His response? "So do you...you met me." This conversation followed one we had Thursday at the bar, and I don't think I can doubt that he's into me now. I'm hoping we can be friends--I've already tried to help him with some other girl issues he has--and he's leaving to go study in an exotic country on a fellowship after he graduates anyway, so he's a non-issue. The attention is definitely nice, but I was anxious to find and get back to L. Then we played Wii, which is always better than a party, in my opinion.

Saturday was our one and a half year anniversary! It might seem silly to celebrate a halfsies anniversary, but we didn't get to make a big deal out of our one year since it was the tech weekend for the play I was directing, so we ordered pizza and watched the Green Bay Packers game. If you know me, you know that that was actually perfection, since I'm a major cheesehead, but it was nice to actually make a big deal out of an anniversary.

We drove to Pittsfield, which is about a half hour drive from Williamstown, for our 8:15 reservation at Elizabeth's, a tiny family-style Italian cafe that's owned by an adorable husband and wife couple: Tom and, you guessed it, Elizabeth. Isn't their menu adorable? Sorry for the poor quality of the pictures; we took them on L.'s iPhone.

Elizabeth's is probably the best dining experience I've ever had. The only forms of payment they accept are cash, check, and IOUs. Yes, they actually do accept IOUs, mostly because people show up with credit cards, order oodles of delicious noodles, and then have no means by which to pay. Every meal comes with warm, crusty, fresh-baked bread (as much as you want!), and a huge metal bowl of a really eclectic salad that's always changing-- ours had strawberries, cheddar, parmesan, kiwi, potatoes, lettuce, carrots, celery...it is so good.

I ordered their Gorgonzola stuffed shells (on the other side of the menu, in case you were looking for them above!) It sounded like it would be too rich, and lo and behold, it was, but only in the way that chocolate cake can be too rich--you might get a little sick but it's just so delicious!


Look at how gooey and gloppy that Gorgonzola is...and how some of the shells are just perfectly crisp. It was like homemade baked macaroni and cheese...without the bread crumbs. Perfection.

L. got the Pasta with Bolognaise sauce, which intially I thought I wouldn't like. When I thought of Bolognaise I also thought of Hollondaise sauce, which I detest. I thought Bolognaise would be a white sauce, but when it arrived on L.'s plate, it was a delicious, meaty, tomato-y, amazing looking gem of a dish:


I like some tomato in my pasta, and while my gooey, gloppy cheese was DELICIOUS for the first few bites, I realized that I couldn't finish it. I did, however, eat quite a few forkfuls of L.'s pasta. He liked it too, as you can see:


We were too stuffed for dessert by the time we finished our meals, but when we said we weren't going to order any, Tom (who likes to walk around and talk to everyone while they eat, while Lizzie cooks up the food in the open-concept kitchen and "chef's tables" dining room), sent over some delicious thin, crispy sourdough cookies on the house. We somehow found room to eat those.


Thank you L. for a delicious, romantic, and completely non-South Beach friendly anniversary!

In other news, I promised a Poli Sci Jeps recap for all y'all, so stay tuned for that...(hint: it did NOT go as well as hoped.)