Unlisted

Yes, your phone is snazzy, but please learn how to use it.

Oh, how I wish a class existed to teach straight, single men how to text.  This seems to be a rapidly growing common concern with female daters.  Don't get me wrong: texting is amazing.  It's amazing for three reasons: (1) keeping in touch with people you are very close to at multiple times throughout the day (2) letting you communicate something quickly when you are too busy/tired/annoyed for a full conversation (3) firming/confirming/changing plans on the fly.

It is NOT good for: forming relationships.

Or even: flirting.  (Unless, you are EXCELLENT at flirting via print medium.  And I've met guys that are...but they are a rare breed.  And I mean RARE- like the Grey Wolf used to be before Congress got a hold of it.)  You must be sure the woman will (a) understand your subtext and (b) be into it before you try this.

Now, I know.  Women aren't easy.  We can be intimidating and sometimes make you feel like you need to keep your distance.  We're sorry.  Still, I think we can do better than just resorting to willy-nilly texting.  Besides, men that call are sexy.

So, just for fun, here are a few Do's and Don't's of texting a woman (or, you know, a man, too) with whom you are in the early stages of dating (say dates 1-4 or 5, depending on the individual and how fast you become comfortable with one another).

DO:

• Text if you: are running late/need to meet at a different spot/are on a metro train where someone just vomited and passed out and emergency technicians have to be called.  (Oh wait..that was my train.)
• Send a brief message after the date (like, WITHIN 24-48 HOURS, if you want to see this girl again) telling her you had a nice time. (Honestly, this is so hot.  If you really want to start a woman panting, a brief and timely "I dug you" message is awesome. )
• Keep a text short, sweet and to the point.  If you need to "clarify" anything related to feelings or emotions, pick up the phone.  (Seriously.)  (Seriously.)
• Call her if you get lost, need real directions or have to offer an explanation that will take more than 3 or 4 sentences.  Or cancel.  Canceling via text=goodbye, 4EVA.
• Send her a quick text if you see/hear/do something she'd find interesting, and you don't have access to email.  Example: "Did you read this morning Washington Post article on squirrel nuts?! I saw it and thought of you!"  or "Oh my gosh, I just stumbled across Gwyneth Paltrow doing a cooking demo at 14th and I! Get down here!" 
• Be careful with abbreviations.  We've all seen the Miller Lite Commercial.

DON'T:

• Text pictures of yourself.  Ever.  (If you are on Craigslist, trolling for hook-ups, this article does not apply to you. You go on with whatever it is you do.)  In real dating, sending pictures of yourself is weird, cheesy or disturbing.  UNLESS, it's a casually snapped shot of something she'd like (see the 5th "Do" above) or a self-shot of you and someone she'd be excited about.  (Example:  You run into Cole Hamels and ask for a quick picture.  You could send that to her.  And if you were accidentally cut out of the picture and it was just Cole Hamels, that would be ok, too.)
• Send texts that require multiple screens, as a general rule.  If it's going to take that long to explain, you need to send an email or pick up the phone and call.  Here is an example of a situation where it became clear that texting (or emailing) wasn't going to cut it.  So, I picked up the phone and proceeded to embarrass myself that way instead.  But, hey, at least it left no room for confusion!  Case of Wine Guy
• USE EMOTICONS.  It is extremely difficult to make an emoticon sexy.  (Except the wink, but again, to use it, you need to be sure she'll interpret it the way you are intending).  Mostly, I find guys use emoticons when they're worried something will be taken the wrong way.  If this is the case, you need to think about: (a) should you really say it and (b) that there might be less confusion if you called.  Mr. Scotch Sad Face did not get a second date.  Just saying.
• Send meaningless texts.  There is not a single woman out there who wants to get a random text two or three weeks after she went out with a guy that just says something like, "How's your week? Mine's been busy." or "Man, it's been hot this week."  Get to the point.  Why are you texting?!  Better yet, what took you two or three weeks, a-hole?!
• Keep texting her if she's not responding to your texts.  She's either: (a) busy or (b) not interested.  Decide how you feel about those options and move on.  (Women- we should take this advice as well.  Everyone repeat after me: If the person is available and interested, they WILL contact you.  I say this to myself at least ten times a month.  Good reminder.)
• Drunk text unless she's given you signals that's she interested in this. (The "signal" being- drunk, flirty texts from her.)  I once had a man I hadn't seen or spoken to in over a month text me at 2AM to wish me "Good Luck" at a 1/2 marathon I was running.  The race was at 7.  That day.  I was not amused to be awoken in my hotel room 5 hours early.

And, of course, as an ambassador of bad texting, let us not forget: Text Message Guy.

Good luck out there, people.

RECIPE

Here is a teaser of next Tuesday's Melissa@Market piece over at Zomppa.  

Asparagus fries (coated in whole wheat flour and whole wheat breadcrumbs)- crunchy, green pee goodness. And then, this aioli. Oh god, this mayo. I want to dive into it. I want to bathe my unborn children in it. I could eat it alone with a spoon. It's *that* good. Shivery, toe-tingling good.

I'm off to Nashville to kick ass in my 9th 1/2 marathon! Enjoy your weekend.

huh

Like my bedroom...only drier.

Lola spent most of yesterday locked in the bathroom barking in protest while (mostly clueless) males tromped in and out of my apartment with large contraptions and (mostly bad) ideas.
The building super stopped by first thing in the morning (and by first thing, I mean I was still in pajamas) which was thoughtful, but ultimately useless.
Building Super:  Whoa, this carpet is WET.
Me:  Indeed.  That's why you're here.
Me:  I think it might be coming from A/C unit since it's next to the carpet's wettest spot.  It hasn't gotten worse since I turned the A/C off.
Building Super: Your A/C unit is on the other side of this wall (pointing to where the biggest wet spot is in the bedroom).
Me: Right.
Building Super:  Looks like it's probably the A/C unit.
(Flash forward building super taking all sorts of things apart.)
Building Super: It's the A/C unit.

At this point, I have made ZERO progress since I knew this BEFORE the building super spent 45 minutes in my apartment.

The building super then tells me he's going to turn the A/C back on and let it run to "make sure that's what's causing the problem".  Even though I explain that every time the A/C is on MY BEDROOM FLOODS, he snaps the switch and says, "I'll be back in a few minutes" and trots off.

Twenty minutes later, the wet spots on my carpet are once again spreading like sweat stains, and building super returns with a large, ancient wet vac.

Me:  I don' think that's going to help since most of the moisture is absorbed by the foam UNDER the carpet.
Building super: No, it works really well.
(Leaves vacuum in bedroom and goes to check A/C. )
Building super:  It's definitely your A/C.  Maybe a draining pipe is clogged.  Whoa!  There's a ton of water in here.
Me:  So, what do we do?
Building Super:  Nothing.  You need to call an A/C company.
Me (on the inside): ARRRRRRRRRGH!

Building super then heads into the bedroom where he spends 15 minutes vacuuming the rug and sucking up absolutely NO water.  When he opens the wet vac to check his progress, it's totally dry. "Huh," he says, shrugging, "Well, that's all I can do.  Good luck."

Just to recap, building super spent over an hour and a half in my apartment (a) stating the obvious (b) doing all the same things I had already tried and (c) actually making the problem worse.

Good talk.

It's too mentally exhausting to think about recapping the two hour brouhaha that went down with the A/C guy showed up, but it involved the property manager, a plumber, my roasting pan and two nitrogen tanks.  Oh, and a six year old bag of peanuts. Still, it does appear that there was resolution.  My carpet is disgusting, but I can run the A/C without turning my boudoir into a lake.  In positive news, I had more men in my bedroom yesterday then I've had in the past five years.

I *thought* going to my first photography class last night would perk me up but instead, it made me want to poke my eye out with a sharp pencil.  It was very math-y and for the two hours I attended, we didn't take any pictures.  We just did broken math with aperture numbers and shutter speeds.  And the teacher told me I have a crappy camera.  When I left, I was seriously afraid that not only did I not learn anything useful, but that the little I did know had been erased from my memory.  I took a picture as soon as I emerged from class to test my theory.  Here it is:

I'm pretty sure this picture says, "Don't return to photography class."



RECIPE

Keep in mind, I took this *before* photography class.  Who knows if I'l ever be able to take a picture like this again?!

It's Melissa@Market day over at Zomppa!! These Prosciutto-Asparagus Toasts are easy and A-mazing.  (Would it surprise you to hear I ate this whole plate?!  Probably not, I'm guessing.)  Go get the recipe here!

Squish

I'm back and ready to give you my full attention again.  Finishing up my classes this semester was no picnic (oh, gosh, I kind of hate picnics anyways, because there are always bugs), and I really don't think I can hear the term "GMO" for a while without breaking a sweat, but it's sweet to be done.  Now, I can devote more time to writing and my BIG NEWS.

Of course, that will be *after* the wall in my bedroom is knocked in and the carpeting is ripped up.  Little unfortunate surprise this weekend...On Friday, I notice a spot on my (carpeted) bedroom floor that seemed- oh, I don't know- cold?  I thought (naively, recklessly) that maybe the A/C was just blowing more heavily on that area.  By Saturday, the "spot" was spreading, and I realized it was water not cold.  And on Sunday around 4AM, I was jarred into full consciousness on a trip to the bathroom when my foot hit the floor and was followed by a loud "SQUISH".  Snapping on every light, I quickly realized the entire carpet was soaked and spreading.  On Easter Sunday.  (Although, this didn't totally shock me, because I am a master of having emergencies on major holidays.)  Due to the location of the most water, it seemed clear the problem lay in the A/C unit, so I was forced to turn it off.  All day.  When the temperature had suddenly climbed into the mid-80s here.  I slept semi-naked and sheet free last night although not unpleasantly (perhaps because I'd been up for 20 hours?!).  Today will be spent crawling through condo management red tape and finding a new carpet that can be installed, like, yesterday.  (Um, wet carpet kind of smells.)

[Side note: I thought my Exciting Story of the weekend would be unintentionally turning left on a (completely red) red light and being chased by the po-po.  But now that seems like just an asterisk to my weekend. ]

The one highlight of the weekend was checking out Sensorium- a kind of pop-up supper club in DC.  Basically, it's twelve "bites" of food presented with theatrics.  A geodesic dome was erected in the park by my house and the supper club takes place inside for a limited two month run.  I wasn't sure exactly what to expect, but the experience was fun.  The food was quite delicious for a makeshift kitchen (some favorites: an exquisitely delicate fennel salad and a tangy beet gazpacho) and whimsy was abundant (see above picture of one of the courses).  The "show" part was wacky, and I'm not sure it was really my thing (I wasn't just "stimulating my 5 senses"- I was OVER-stimulating them).  Still, we were paired with some lovely people at dinner, and I do love to make a new friend or two.

Today is the second piece in my series for Zomppa on dating and food.  Frankly, the piece doesn't set my world on fire, but let's just assume I'm saving my best writing for Part 3: What Women Think of Men's Eating.
Check out Must Love Food: What Men Think of Women's Eating Habits here.

And if you have any recommendation for good flooring people or interior designers in the DC area, send them my way!

Must Love Dogs. For Serious.

Love me.

Another week, another paper on genetically modified crops that I'm procrastinating.  Oh yes, that's right, people.  I'm living my own personal version of Groundhog's Day.  It ain't good.  If I could just finish it, I'd have one course completely done.  Of course, that's one, huge, ginormous "if".

Anywho, here's my dating thought for the day.  I can't date men who don't like dogs.  I'm not talking tolerate.  I'm saying they Must. Love. Dogs.  (Or happen to be John Cusak.  But, actually, I'm pretty sure he likes dogs.  So, there you go.)  Lola and I have been together 9 years (in fact, she just turned 10 this month).  This is the LONGEST RELATIONSHIP OF MY LIFE.  I'm serious.  There is like zero/nil/no chance in hell you are going to come between me and my dog.  And as I'm really not looking to train a man (hell, Lola was so much work...I'm exhausted), you need to be comfortable with dogs to start.  The man I'm dating has to got to realize that if Lola (especially now that's she really getting up there) doesn't feel so hot or needs a walk or whatever, *you* are going to come second.  Period. (Unless you are openly bleeding.  Or unconscious.  Then, you might come first.)  Even better, the right guy is totally going to *assume* this is the case because: he. loves. dogs.

I bring this up because Mr. Unavailable#9 (who is kind of creeping me out by becoming increasingly more available by the moment) was not into Lola.  I guess I should have anticipated this, because despite the fact that I mention her repeatedly in my profile, and most dates typically bring her up in conversation along with their own pets, we had had two pet discussion-free dates.  He met her briefly on Sunday due to a little scheduling snafu and even though she was literally *nudging his hand with her nose*, he refused to pet her and kept a safe distance the entire time they were around one another.  Listen... Lola sleeps at the foot of my bed.  She rides along on errands.  She perks up when I talk, and she licks away my tears.  You ready to do that, big guy?!  Yeah, that's what I thought.  Not making friends with my dog is a quick ticket to see-you-later-ville.  (Since I would not normally introduce a guy to Lola on the 2nd date, I'm trying to play this out a bit to give him a chance.  Plus, some would argue that not liking my dog shouldn't be a complete deal breaker. )

Honestly, Lola has converted plenty of non-dog lovers.  But, do I really want to date someone that needs to be *convinced* to love a dog or doesn't give a sh*t about one?  (This is a rhetorical question. We both know the answer.)

In other news, I MUST stop internet dating.

RECIPE

Yay for asparagus season!  Apparently, I really love asparagus, because when I was scouting my recipes for Melissa@Market I noticed I cut and clipped approximately 1,000 recipes using asparagus (which is in season for barely a month around here...so basically I'd have to eat asparagus three times a day to use them all).  Did you know that the thick asparagus is typically sweeter than the thin?!  For some reason, people have come to discard the fatty-asparagus without a very good reason.  Kinda of like the way I decide to no longer date someone. huh. (No comments, please!)

Here's a recipe I tried last season for a little spring cocktail party.

ASPARAGUS AND SMOKED MOZZARELLA BRUSCHETTA

Toasts:
Cut a baguette (wheat or white) into thin slices.  If you cut at a diagonal, you will get a wider surface area. Brush each side of bread with a little olive oil (or just drizzle over and when you flip, rub in on the pan). Toast in the oven at 350/375 for about 10-15 minutes or until slightly toasty.  (They need to be firm to support the topping.)  This can be done a day ahead.

Ingredients:
1/2 cup black olives, pitted and chopped
2 teaspoons capers (um, I might use 3 tsp)
3 tablespoons Italian parsley, chopped (if not using food processor)
3 tablespoons olive oil

Directions:
1.  Combine ingredients in a food processor or hand-chop and combine in a bowl. (Can make up to this point a day ahead.)
2.  Spread onto each toast (should be enough for at least 12 large toasts).

Ingredients:
1 pound asparagus
1/2-1 pound smoked mozzarella, thinly sliced
salt, pepper, to taste

Directions:
1.  Preheat broiler while you bring a pot of water to a boil.  Drop in asparagus for about 3 minutes.  Remove and shock with cold water or ice water.  (This will help it keep its color.)
2.  Cut asparagus to fit the bread.  Place a couple of asparagus pieces on top of the olive mixture. Season with salt/pepper. Cover with cheese.
3.  Broil for a couple of minutes, keeping a close eye on it.  Remove when cheese has melted/just slightly browned.
Note: You can also serve this cold.  Do this by layering cheese on top of olive mixture and placing asparagus on top.  Drizzle with olive oil if you wish.


Love a dog.

This is just a pretty spring picture I took today on a walk.  With my DOG.

Salad Days

Leave it to Shakespeare to link green, leafy goodness and the heyday of a person's life.  The phrase "salad days" was first used in his "Antony and Cleopatra" when good ol' Cleo looks back on life with Julius Caesar and says, "My salad days...when I was green in judgment and cold in blood".  Today, instead of just meaning a time of youthful indiscretion, "salad days" often refers to a time when a person is at their zenith and peak of their abilities.  This time, often short-lived like the greens of its name, is full of flavor and zest and deserves to be savored.

Last week smacked of salad days- it was packed with days of finger-licking goodness and solid crunch and exceeded expectations.  (Due in no small part that the damn GM Alfalfa paper is finally done. No, you can't read it.)  A few highlights:

• Three nights of the Phillies (although, dang it, they kept Cole Hamels out of my reach): two of which I attended with new friends and one of which involved getting to observe Super-fan Guy on a date.  (Note:  Standing up to "direct" 'Build Me Up, Buttercup' to the stands is apparently not the way to a lady's heart.  Train. Wreck.)  Also, Philly guys are HOT.  Worn t-shirt, baseball caps and jeans, hot.  I saw nary a guy wearing his suit to the game (typical in DC on weeknight).  Middle of the game, Philly fan behind me leans forward and says (referring to Super-fan Guy): "What's up with that guy?"  Me: "Uh...we're not sure.  He's a real big fan."  Philly guy: "He'd get his *ass* kicked in Philly."  Me: (sad nod of agreement).
• A great class on the dangers of sugar and processed food at Unity.  (Note: SnoBalls contain over 48 g of sugar in EACH ball.  FrootLoops have over 110 ingredients when you count all the ingredients in the food coloring. The kids that deciphered the label on Kraft Mac & Cheese were *super* confused when they discovered there's no CHEESE in it.  Processed food- ick.)
• A Target shopping spree to stuff 30 Easter baskets for recently homeless kids.  (Giving is still kind of self-serving when it feels so good, huh?!)  And yes, the baskets are filled with real stuff not candy.  And a toothbrush/toothpaste.  I'm *that* person now.  (Note:  I would *never* give out raisins on Halloween...I would give out pencils. sigh.)
• A dinner at Cafe Atlantico where my dignity still came home with me at the end of the night.  (Oh, I see you, cute bartender...but I'm not buying.)
• The most amazing yoga session with the most amazing yoga teacher.  After my previous day's 11 miler that left me feeling like the ball and socket to my right hip were not friends anymore, she helped them make amends.  So fabulous.  
• Tea with two of the wonderful women of Zomppa. 
• Brunch at Creme Cafe with my lovely friend, Scott.  We were seated next to Alex Sanchez from Season 5 of HGTV's Design Star (of which I am a huge fan).  He was totally my favorite from last season, so I was mildly distracted all brunch while poor Scott tried to regain my attention.  (And was really unimpressed when I was able to explain said-distraction later.)
• A 6 1/2 hour date at a Nats double-header (they swept!) in brilliant sunshine.  Still undecided about the date, but the experience was lovely.

RECIPE

This week's Melissa@Market  is therefore on SALADS.  Live your salad days with gusto!  Eat your veggies!  (Click on the link to get the recipes.)

Mythology

You are lying if you don't think this is an amazing unicorn picture. I mean, look at the bunny in the bottom left corner! from disgrasian.com

I might just start believing in leprechauns, unicorns and the Loch Ness Monster (which I already kinda sorta believe in anyways).  I'm suddenly open to the idea that there's a whole other world out there about which I know nothing. Where did my newfound faith in things unseen come from? Pretty much from the fact I'm going on a second date with a man-type I didn't think existed anymore.   At least in my world.

It has been forever (and by "forever" I mean "never") since I had a guy that I found attractive, funny, smart and chivalrous (door-opening, date-paying, but not condescendingly chivalrous) follow up on a date (a) within 36 hours and (b) by admitting he was trying to wait a bit before contacting me so he wouldn't alarm me by following up too soon.  WHAT?!  I mean, this is two steps short of the line every girl longs to hear from a guy she has the hots for - "I can't stop thinking about you."  (Yes, I used the word "hots"- deal with it.)  When a guy can admit you've been in his thoughts (even surreptitiously), it's pretty damn sexy.  (Uh...if you at least like him a little, too.  Otherwise, it's can be kinda creepy and stalker-ish.  Fine line there.)

Ok, sure.  So, he might be Mr. Unavailable#9.  But, as my friend Rachel so kindly pointed out, besides all the superlatives of yesterday, he is also "age-appropriate".  This is true.  (Thank you, Rachel, for the gentle reminder that I'm creeping up there.) And perhaps part of my previous problems stem from the fact that I tend to date younger (sometimes much younger) men.  Dating someone my own age (who has not mentioned my ovaries yet) is kind of exciting.  I can talk about Star Wars and Monchichis and Debbie Gibson and Penn State's National Championships (when some of the guys I've dated were mere toddlers) without fear of quizzical looks.  Dreamy.  And chemistry is just starting to develop...it's not like I'm head over heels for this guy yet.  I have perspective.  I think.  (This whole "he really wants to see me again thing" *is* a little judgment clouding.)

I'm proceeding with caution.  (Which really I'd do with a leprechaun, a unicorn or the LN Monster as well...they all have an element of danger now, don't they?)  Still, possibility beckons.

And I can't help but dream on.

RECIPE

Please check out my first Melissa@Market article for zomppa.com.  I'm very excited to be doing this new weekly series!  Today's focus is on my most favorite of vegetables- KALE!

Love, Bacon, and Greens.  The trifecta of happiness.  Two out of three ain't bad either.

Typecasting

From Google Images

People frequently ask me what my "type" is when it comes to guys.  Physically, I don't have a strong answer for this.  I *think* I prefer tall guys, but at least half of the guys I've been seriously attracted to have barely reached above my height.  Ditto for a brown hair/eyes preference.  I mean for a while there, I was only dating red-heads and bald guys (and still would, Sam Kass - call me anytime).  (I still don't like dating blonds.  I think it's weird when two blond people date each other- kind of like looking directly into the sun.) Lean and lanky might have been my description of body type, but the guys I've actually kissed with this physique are few and far between.  In short, I like what I like, ok?

Personality has always played a bigger role in attraction for me.  Confidence (but not arrogance), self-depricating humor, intellect, altruism, athleticism are all huge draws.  As you've seen from this blog, I also like a man's man.  If he occasionally wears terrible shoes or slightly dirty T-shirts or a beat-up baseball cap, maintains a 5 o'clock shadow, drinks beer and talks sports, I'm libel to swoon.  A poetry-quoting, theater buff who keeps a pair of perfectly polished loafers in his closet, takes longer than I do to get ready, and wears a pinky ring is not my guy.  (It's cool if he *knows* theater and poetry.  I just don't want him to choose it over a ball game.)

But, it seems my number one qualification to REALLY fall for a guy (which hasn't happened much for me but qualifies as the wild attraction, avid fantasies, unrestrained gushing kind of "like") is...emotional unavailability.  For serious.  And if it were just one or two of the handful of men I've truly adored in my lifetime, it might be forgiven.  Every woman (and probably a lot of men) has encountered this at some point.  But, I've got a serious pattern here, and I'm beginning to wonder about *my* mental stability when I continually stumble upon this type.  (Am I choosing them?! Or is this just REAL bad luck?!)

Thus, I shouldn't have been surprised about my date last night. An okCupid date, his profile pictures looked cute, the writing was honest, he was down with my rabid sports knowledge, and he asked me out directly without pretense within a couple of emails (this NEVER happens online).  He even chose a place and a time (yay! I didn't have to plan a date!).  I walked into the hotel bar he picked, and -wow- he was HOT.  Very, very attractive.  As attractive at Steamy Windows Guy (although more mainstream clean-cut, but also...short...clearly, I don't really care about this criteria).  Good start.  Conversation flowed pretty easily.  His career and life made fodder for fascinating stories, he sincerely listened to me, and he loves talking sports.

Something in my gut though was proceeding with caution.  Maybe rightly so.  About an hour into the date, he disclosed his recent divorce (as in, less than half a year) for reasons that were more about circumstance than anything else.  He then proceeded to talk about the situation (albeit maturely and rationally) on and off for the rest of the night.  I totally appreciated his honesty (can't say I haven't been alerted), but warning bells were dinging with wild abandon.  Still, drinks turned into dinner, and we ended up having a 3 1/2 hour date. (That he paid for in its entirety...stunning.) I even offered to take him to a ballgame next weekend (though there is some ambiguity surrounding the date which is a poor sign).

I liked him (although, it wasn't wild, mad chemistry...just enough to be intrigued).  He really *was* a sweet guy with loads of fabulous positives and a lot of the attributes I listed above.  Part of me would love to get to know him better.

The other part isn't so sure if I'm prepared for him to become him Mr. Unavailable#9.

RECIPE
When life gives you lemons (or unavailable men)...

Lemon Pound Cake- picture from Top50States.com

I LOVE lemon pound cake.  Particularly in the spring/summer, it is just a refreshingly delightful dessert (um...or breakfast??).  This one is super easy and will be in the oven in no time.  When berries are in season, I mix some together with a sprinkle of sugar and let them stew to develop some juices.  Then, I serve them along side this cake.  A dollop of fresh whipped cream or vanilla ice cream would be good too, though.

LEMON POUND CAKE

Ingredients

3 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
3 cups sugar
6 eggs (large)
2 tablespoons lemon juice (err on the side of more if you like it nice and lemony like I do)
2 tablespoons lemon zest
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup buttermilk

Directions
1.  Preheat oven to 325 degrees F.  Butter and flour a bundt pan.
2. Combine dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, salt) in a small bowl.
3.  In a mixer, combine butter and sugar until fluffy.  Beat in eggs, one at a time.  Add lemon juice, vanilla and zest.
4.  Alternate adding 1/3 of the flour and 1/2 the buttermilk (starting and ending with flour) until all is incorporated into the mixture.  Don't mix too much or the batter will toughen.
5.  Pour into pan and bake for about 90 minutes.  Cake will spring back when touched and a toothpick will come out with only dry crumbs.
6.  Cool in the pan for about 10 minutes and then loosen cake with a sharp knife and remove.

Make yourself available for a second piece.

Time Flies

I'd much rather see things coming up daffodils than roses.  Roses are cheesy.

It's hard to believe I've been writing this blog for over half a year now. When I started, my only goal was to practice writing more often and perhaps cathartically purge myself of a lifetime of bad dating decisions.  The blog certainly hasn't improved my dating life much, and I'm not even positive it's improved my writing skills much (but my photography skills...hell, yeah!).  Still, I think I'll continue to sit down and write even if no one is reading.  Putting things on paper  computer screen brings me such joy.  Honestly, when I sit down to write I find myself smiling the whole time I type and achieving a nice, little high like I would on a long run.  The fact that my writing reaches a few of you each day and makes you laugh is delicious icing.

Today, I'm especially happy.  Yesterday was a gorgeous spring day in which I really realized the immense things that have happened in my life over the past year and the exciting direction in which it is headed.  I have big news, my lovely readers.  News I will share with you very soon.  Life can change so quickly and when you look back to see that what you thought was one of the lowest points of your life has now become the best thing that ever happened to you...well, that's a happy moment.  And, so I am.  Happy.

This picture is not great because it was taken IN A BATHROOM.  Yes, the women's restrooms at Estadio, a lovely (and otherwise quite classy) tapas place in DC, are lined with photos of half-dressed European soccer players. Shall I pretend I'm offended?

1/2 a year's worth of men in blogs.  Take the poll to your right and tell me which one was your favorite story:

• Sausage Guy
• Diet Guy (of Eat the Cake! fame)
• Hotel Bar Guy
• Overpass Guy
• Text Message Guy
• Mr. Intensity aka Ovaries Guy
• Chicago Lawyer Guy
• Steamy Windows Guy
• Mr. Scotch Sad Face (named post-blog)
• One of the other guys mentioned here and there.

Miss Independence

Ok, so maybe I couldn't carve this ice sculpture.  But, I could carve, like, a deformed penguin for you.
From Google Images.

For the greater part of my adult life, I have not been a dater.  My parents basically instilled some sort of brainwashing on me from childhood that men were extraneous to my greater well-being.  From the get-go, I was expected to operate independently and self-reliantly.  (I used to mow our lawn with my eyes swollen shut from allergies, because it built character and all. And I had to be actively vomiting to stay home from school.) I think my mother seriously regrets this as I inch towards middle-age and wipe away all hopes of a future family lineage, but, you know, tough cookies because you wrought this.

When I was in high school, the thing I remember most about dating is being coerced into pretty much all of my dates.  I really can't remember enthusiastically saying, "Yes!" to any scenario involving a date.  In college, well, who dates in college?  I did a lot of kissing, but not a lot of dating.  I'm pretty sure the only time I used the word "relationship" was in chemistry class when I was describing interactions between molecules.  Sure, I accidentally fell in love and had plenty of crushes, but I was clueless about what one *did* when that happened.  Basically, I've bumbled my way around boys I like for the greater part of two decades.

In culinary school, I had a big crush on the Teaching Assistant for several of my classes.  You might remember him from this.  Right.. he's the guy I broke my hand in front of while making chocolate chip cookies.  Well, our story gets hotter.  About a month after the cookie incident when other girls might have been asking about places to grab a drink or where students hung out after class, I was still swimming around in conflicting feelings of independence and lust.  My class schedule had rotated and now I was in Garde Manger class.  Garde manger means "keep to eat" and is basically a class involving production of things served cold and looking pretty.  And carving ice sculptures.  With a chain saw.  In short, it's like danger on a plate.  I'm surprised they didn't slap me with a warning label after the whole CC cookie incident.

Once again, a situation arose where our professor needed to leave class early.  We were in the middle of making pates and terrines.  The same Teaching Assistant was sent in to cover.  Little flutters arose in my stomach.  Thirty minutes to make a better impression.  When he came in, he said hello and asked about my hand. (I wouldn't recommend breaking your hand to imprint yourself on someone, but hey! it works.) My pate was in the oven, so we chatted a bit.  When the time came to check the doneness of my dish, I pulled it out of my oven.  Now...basically, a pate is a smushed up log of many different ground items that is then covered in pork (or some other) type of fat.  It is baked in a terrine- a small rectangular loaf pan- that is covered with some sort of board and a weight to make sure the shape comes out uniform.  Now, when the pate is in the oven, the fat you have placed around it begins to melt, seeping into the dish and giving it the rich flavor that everyone knows so well.

I pull my pate out of the oven, using my potholders.  I remove the weight, remove the board and check the progress.  The pork fat is melted, but the dish is not done.  Just then, Teaching Assistant makes eye contact across the room and begins to walk over towards me.  And that's when a lot of things happen at once.  First, I've set my potholders aside to poke the terrine with my fingers.  Second, my heart starts to do that over-excited pound and my thoughts race that TA is coming back to talk with me again.  Third, I hurry to get the terrine back in the oven- placing the board back on top and then....OH!and then....I grab the (BURNING HOT) metal weight with my (still bare) hand.  Like any person with a functional brain, I reflexively drop the scorching round disk.  Sadly, I drop it right over the terrine.  Where it hits the board.  Which hits the melted pork fat.  That spews like a geyser straight up in the air and then trickles down all over my hair, dripping down my face.  TA has arrived now.  He's trying not to laugh.  "Eau de pork fat, huh?  I hear the boys love that scent," is all he says as he walks away.  And that's the end of that.  He was probably a jerk anyways.  (This is what I always tell myself when it doesn't work out. )

I'd like to say my dating style has improved over the past decade or so, but I'm afraid not.  As you've read, I still act like an idiot around men I find intriguing or attractive.  I'm not sure if it's some sort of reflexive reaction to that fight for independence that's ingrained in me that makes me such a mess, or just some innate flaw, but "smooth" has never been a word I'd use to describe me around potential mates.

But, I can carve an ice sculpture with a chain saw.

That must count for something.

Not my picture.  From the internets.

RECIPE
No recipe.  Here's what I have to say about pates and their ilk.  Go to Michel Richard's Central.  Order the faux gras and cheese puffs.  Spread the faux gras on the cheese puff. Eat.  Write me a thank you note.

On Second Chances

The sun still rises, although past relationships won't.

Now that I am back to feeling free-spirited and independent again, dating is a like an after-thought.  Just last night it occurred to me that I'd completely abandoned email communication with Beer Guy (he writes massive emails solely revolving around beer).  I'm just not in a rush to date.  I haven't been out on one since Mr. Scotch Sad Face almost two months ago (wow-really?! well, seems as good a place as any to end), and it seems I haven't missed it.  Right now, I'm all about seeing what life throws in my path and absorbing it meditatively.  Yes, I've gone all dating-zen.  Could be a self-protective reflex, could be divine inspiration, could be a return to normalcy.

Unless life throws my past in my path, of course, then we shall see about my zen.  DC is a small town in many ways, and it's crossed my mind about how I might react if I run into The Crush (internal embarrassment is the worst kind).  I have a real knack for running into people who have disappointed me.  From old bosses: an encounter that involves too much talking on my part and, at least, one veiled insult. To that guy friend-who-might-be-something-more-but-never-was: yeah, he's the one I hid behind a mini-van with LolaDog to avoid. To the third date guy I tried to let down easy, but failed miserably: usually involves a lot of fake smiling on my part and open hostility on his.  In short, sometimes I act like an idiot, and sometimes, they do.

When it comes to men I was actually involved with, my encounter might be cordial, but it's not going to open any doors.  Where do men get the confidence to think that as long as a woman is still single, they might have a chance?  What about 'you ripped my heart out and stomped all over it' says 'I might give you a second opportunity to do the same'?  My favorite example of this was right after I moved back to DC after living in California for several years.  I was out for a run on the Mall when I heard the screech of bike tires.  The next thing I knew, an ex was calling my name and riding along jauntily beside me.  And not just any ex.  The ex who wreaked havoc on my life for several years, leading to endless fodder for therapy long after he was out of the picture.  The ex who when he left town, I seized the opportunity to ignore all communication from and completely cut out of my life.  For 7 years.  Well, apparently, he thought that was long enough for me to forget because there he was, riding along beside me as I refused to break my stride on my 6-miler.  Still, he wanted to "catch up" and "get together" and asked if he could give me his card.  (He couldn't, because I wasn't stopping and it's hard to reach into a backpack while riding a bike.)  Seriously?!  seriously.

In DC, you're always running (uh, sometimes, literally) into somebody who was part of your past.  But, I find- more often than not- they won't become part of my future.

Zen as it is.


PS.  I love this post from the author of Science of Single (see previous post).  I feel like we are leading parallel lives.  Mr. Backpedaler - perfectly explained.

RECIPE
I may not be hungry for a man, but I certainly am hungry.  My 1/2 marathon training is reaching its peak, and food is at a zenith.  Lately, I've been downing pasta like they might stop making it.  At the Dupont Farmer's Market this weekend, I picked up a few homemade types for the week.  Last night, I was inspired by a recipe I read about in Food & Wine's coverage of Gwyneth Paltrow's new cookbook.  I created my own version, all the while saying, "I won't eat the whole thing."

I totally ate the whole thing.  Decadent, delicious and terribly satisfying.

What were you saying about men again?

Dinner in the works.

GWYNIE-INSPIRED ZUCCHINI PASTA

Ingredients
1 yellow squash or zucchini
flour
salt/pepper
canola oil (for frying)
good quality pasta
cream
parmesan cheese
basil (fresh or dried)

Directions
1.  Season a handful of flour with salt and pepper.  Slice zucchini or squash into coins.  (Zucchini would look prettier, but all I had was a squash I needed to use up.)  Toss coins in flour.
2.  Heat a shallow layer of canola oil over medium-high heat.  Carefully place coins in oil.  Cook for about 3-4 minutes and then turn over gently with tongs.
3.  Meanwhile, cook pasta according to directions.  (I used a nutmeg squash pasta for this recipe. )
4.  Toss pasta with a splash of cream (the same way you'd use a little pasta water to coat it) and parmesan to taste.  Sprinkle with dried or fresh basil (again, to taste).
5.  Drain squash coins on paper towels, then lay over pasta.

Get all zen over the future of dinner.

It might not look amazing in this picture (um, seriously can't wait to learn how to take pictures in bad lighting), but trust me...it was!

Fire, Flirts and False Advertising

Cherry blossoms: it's hard to enjoy them in peace.

To wrap up an already spectacular week of dining and friends, I headed into the weekend with momentum.  It certainly didn't disappoint.  From Friday night when I thought the bartender was just being friendly (and that he was gay) until he gave me his digits and sent me a very flirty text to Saturday when I sat through a baseball game next to a self-described "bodacious", beefy, belligerent Indian man to Saturday night when I lit my purse on fire at a fundraising gala five minutes after walking inside, it was quite a finish to the week.

Friday night:  Masa 14 will now join Cafe Atlantico on the list of places I should not patronize (due to a tipple too many).  The bartender helping us find a seat at their very packed happy hour remembered me from my last date there (um...Mr. Scotch Sad Face of the whole 'making out in cars' episode), and I really, TRULY thought he was just being friendly.  And also that he liked boys.  So I was surprised when, after topping off my wine so often- without provocation- that I was not 100% myself, he handed me his card.  Confused, it seemed like the right thing to hand him mine.  Even more confusing, I had a flirty text from him before I even got home.

Next time I bitch about men and how I just want a guy to pursue me and make the first move, blah, blah, blah...please tell me to SHUT UP.  Because here's a good case of a guy really taking a leap and all I can think is, "Wait.  So, he's *not* gay??" Availability level: high.  His investment level: strong.  My interest level: nil. (Maybe there is something to that whole me-only-liking-guys-with-issues-that-make-them-emotionally-unavailable thing?)

We even have soft pretzels in the shape of that "W" (which is less weird now that George is not president).

Saturday day:  Ah, baseball.  Season ticket seats are gorgeous- I can practically touch the players on the field (and trust me, if Cole Hamels is ever near my seat, there *will* be touching... Roy Halladay also looks remarkably like the bartender from Cafe Atlantico, so I'm not making any promises about keeping my hands off him either).  Unfortunately, my seat mate for game one was drunk by the bottom of the first (although after Friday night, this is kind of judgy-judgy of me, no??) and was a real close talker.  Mr. A-T-L  (I can't tell you how many times he managed to use the phrase "the A-T-L" in conversation- it was a lot) maybe hit the Miller Lites a little too hard.  But, hey, now I know that real men have "bodacious" butts and that he'd be happy to beat up the guy in row B that stood up and danced after every inning.  Charming. And helpful.

Saturday night: Taste of the Hill Fundraising Gala.  A lovely event to support the local Capitol Hill public schools.  Neighborhood restaurants provide samples of their food and a wine pairing (not a lot of wine drinking for this one after Friday night), and you mill about tasting at random.  Within minutes of picking up my first plate, my purse was licked with flames and threatening to burn down the church where the event was held. (Is this a sign I shouldn't have questioned my Lenten resolution?  Possible, possible.) It takes a lot of talent to set your bag down within range of a tea candle but not over it, so it will smother the flame.  It takes even more talent to be completely unaware that the item is actually alight and progressively building strength.

Me: (talking to friend about Friday night, oblivious)
Server collecting plates:  "Oh, oh, OH!!" (pointing)
Me (all calm and perceptive-like):  (reach for purse, realize other end has flames shooting from it)
Server and Friend: "Oh my gosh!!"
Other guests: "Oh no!!" "Ah!" etc.
Me (again, all calm and ninja-like):  (Beating and stomping on purse which is basically melting beads into the floor and tablecloth and getting rather hot.)
Me (after fire is out, trying to extract myself from the stringy mess the melted beads have produced):  "Well, that was exciting!  Er...sorry?" (Resume previous conversation until approximately 20 people walk by the table to tell me I was lucky it wasn't my hair on fire.  Thank you, people.  Indeed.  But, I might have noticed *that* a bit sooner.)

The after shot.  

Sunday, I played it safe by hitting the Farmer's Market (no Sausage Guy at Dupont, either), chilling on the Mall with Lola, Beth and, oh, 500-600 tourists, and checking out the new Pound coffeeshop (local, organic, free-trade!!) with Kate.  A girl can only take so much excitement in one weekend.

When I find a man who sends me tulips, I'll have a hard time thinking he's not my guy.

Who needs dating to have a good week?!  Not this one.  I'm starting to feel a nice little "who cares about men"buzz coming on.  The sun is shining, my friends are awesome, and I've got better things to do.

Just me, Lola, Beth and about 500 of our closest friends.

RECIPE
Baseball requires snacks.  And stadium snacks are sometimes a little gross.  Once in a while, you can suspend reality and partake, but having season tickets is going to require me to sneak some of my own goodies inside.  Beef jerky seems ideal.

MELISSA'S HOMEMADE BEEF JERKY
I really, really like making my own beefy jerky.  I also like to tell people, "I make my own beef jerky."  I think it sounds kind of bad-ass (please don't tell me if it doesn't).  It's actually really easy.  All you need is a little forethought and 6 hours to sit around with your oven on.  This is my favorite recipe of all the versions I've tried.  It's got some nice heat to it and the seasoning doesn't mask the beefy flavor.  If you can't make your own, then I recommend hitting up the Red Apron guy at the Farmer's Market.  Their charcuterie is pretty delicious.

Ingredients
2 lbs. flank steak (get some really good grass-fed stuff!)
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/2 cup bourbon (I despise bourbon...don't worry, if you do, too- you can barely taste it once you cook the jerky)
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 tbsp liquid smoke (kind of gross, but whatever)
1/2 cup water
4 cloves garlic (whole)
1 tsp red pepper
1 tsp white pepper
1 tsp onion powder
2 tbsp black pepper (yes, tablespoons)

Directions
1.  Trim the beef of excess fat and freeze the beef for 1 to 2 hours before slicing.  This will make it a lot easier to slice thinly.
2.  Get a very sharp knife and thinly slice (around the thickness of a checkbook is what I find is best...too thin and it's not chewy enough; too thick and it will stay too soft) the beef with the grain into nice long strips.
3.  Combine the other ingredients in a large, flat dish or a ziploc bag.  Add beef and make sure it is coated.  Marinate for at least 6 hours and up to 2 days. (I've always marinated at least 1 day.)
4.  Remove meat from the marinade and pat dry a little.  Cover a few cookies sheets with foil and lay strips on them.
5.  Preheat oven to lowest temperature possible (150-175 degrees F).  Cook for about 6 hours, turning strips at the 3 hour mark.  (This may take only 4 hours, turning at two...depending on the thickness of the meat and your oven.)  I designate a "tasting" piece, that I begin to test (by eating it) at the 3 hour mark.  I, then, cook from there depending on how chewy I want it to be.
6.  Cool.  Can be kept in a cool, dry, airtight place for at least 1 month. (I've taken it on 2-week road trips and it's been fine...and gone.)

Who needs jerks when you've got beef jerky?!

Taking Care of Business

I have basically abandoned the thought that I might ever meet someone I would want to date just going about my daily business.  Basically, there are two scenarios I repeatedly seem to encounter when I interact with random men: (1) guy doesn't notice me (most typical) / tries to ignore me (varied reasons)/ makes polite conversation that is clearly going nowhere (see this post for an example)  or (2) guy is interested but either wildly inappropriate or openly disturbed.

A good example of the second scenario happened today.  Returning from a run around 4 p.m., I waited for the building elevator.  A woman who also lives in the building, and who I know casually, comes to stand with me.  Just after we step on and the doors begin to close, a guy careens in precariously balancing a 1/2 case of ...what? it wasn't beer or wine, maybe scotch?...in his arms.  It's quite clear that the other 1/2 of the scotch is presumably inside him.  He gives us both a big smile.

As he makes his grand entrance, the woman is telling me that I appear to be shrinking (which is sooo not true, these are just *real* flattering running capris).  I reply, "Maybe it's the half-marathon I'm training for in April?"  Just as I finish speaking, we hit her floor and she steps off.  Now, it's just me and smiley Mr. Drunkedy-Drunk, who immediately and enthusiastically bursts out, "Well, your ass sure looks fantastic!!"

Um.  Thanks??

A small part of me did feel a bit bad for him.  He was, maybe, 23 and chances are we will see each other again.  Inside his head, it could have sounded more like, "You look fantastic!" or "Keep up the good work!"  Still, I think it's a good lesson to learn that it is never appropriate to mention a women's ass (or breasts, for that matter) when you are strangers alone together in elevator.  Hopefully, it's a lesson he'll remember once sober.

Just once again affirming, it's best to stick to the business at hand and keep my head down and chin up when it comes to the men I encounter on the streets of DC.

RECIPE
Mr. Drunkedy-Drunk could probably use something to soak up the alky-hal.  I think this smoky chipotle mac & cheese will do the trick.  It's quick and easy and one pot (ok, and one skillet).  Plus, it's full of the fat tri-fecta.  Perfect to sober up.  I make it a lot for non-drunks, too.

This picture is from the Food Network.  Dear Food Network, Please try harder. xoxo, A Much Better Photographer

CHIPOTLE MAC and CHEESE
Adapted from a recipe by Rachael Ray
Serves 4-10 (depending on alcohol consumption)

Ingredients

1 pound elbow macaroni (you could use penne, but why ??)
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 small onion, chopped
3 tablespoons flour
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon paprika (I like to use smoked paprika)
3 cups whole milk  (must be whole!!!)
1 cup chicken or vegetable broth
3 cups grated smoked cheddar cheese (or at least a sharp cheddar cheese)
1 tablespoon dijon mustard
2 chipotle peppers in adobo (comes in a can), chopped (or 1 tablespoon ground chipotle pepper powder)
1/2 to 1 pound chorizo or spicy sausage, casings removed so sausage is loose
1 15 oz. can of fire-roasted diced tomatoes, drained

Directions
1.  Cook the pasta according to package directions while chopping and gathering other ingredients.  Drain.
2. Heat a medium skillet over medium-low heat and add just a dab of olive oil.  Add the chorizo and brown, breaking up chunks and large pieces.  Then add the tomatoes and cook very briefly to heat them through.
3.  Meanwhile in a dutch oven or large pot (I use the same one I cooked the pasta in), heat the olive oil  and butter over medium-low heat.  Add the onion and chipotle peppers and cook for about 3 to 5 minutes.  Raise the heat to about medium or medium-high and whisk in the flour, cayenne pepper and paprika.  When it starts to bubble a little, cook for about one more minute.
4.  Whisk in milk and stock and raise the heat to bring it to a boil (higher fat milk is not at risk of burning as low-fat would be).  As soon as it boils, drop the heat to a simmer.  Keep whisking until mixture thickens.  This is the trickiest step.  You can't move onto the next step until you are sure your milk mixture seems a bit reduced and thickened.  It will probably take 10-15 minutes.
5.  Add the grated cheese to the thickened sauce.  Allow to melt. Then, stir in the mustard and season with salt and pepper.
6.  Rewarm the chorizo and tomatoes slightly, then toss them with the drain pasta.  Then, add that entire mixture to the cheese sauce (I told you to use a large pot!).  Stir to coat.

Soak it up-head down, chin up.