This post is sponsored by Cipo and Baxx Clubwear.

Last night, I had the pleasure of meeting a plethora of lovely DC ladies IRL for the first time. I immediately fell in love with Noe, as we chattered about our adorable awkwardness as human beings, the nerdalicious books we’re reading, and pondered why people are by and large unable to accept compliments from strangers.

(Preach.)

There were a two lovely girls behind us, enjoying each other’s company at the bar as they split a cheese plate (yes, I noticed because it was CHEESE. What’s your point?)

Suddenly, a deep voice boomed behind me, clearly directed at one of the girls:

“Excuse me, miss, but are you from Tennessee?”

Startled, I heard her hesitate.

“Um, no…”

“Well that’s funny… because you’re the only TEN I see!!”

Noe and I immediately doubled over with secret guffaws, shoulders shaking, clutching each other’s hands in a desperate attempt to control the peals of laughter.

It was a magical moment. I mean, this really HAPPENS? Even with my back to him, I could tell this guy completely deadpanned this. He wasn’t making a joke, or trying to be kitschy – he was 100%, in for a penny in for a pound, go big or go home, completely and totally serious.

Men of the world, please, please don’t do this. Cheesy pick-up lines – even if you ARE making a joke – are just not funny. You know what you should try? One of my all time favorites:

“Hi. I’m ____.”

Oy.

Mama said share.

I’ve never been a fan of the awards shows. I’m not part of the film or music industry; sure, I’m a consumer, but I just don’t really care to see these celebritous-people in their natural- aka boring- state. (Men who make my loins quiver excluded, naturally.) But in general, if they’re not dancing for me, I’m not interested, frankly.

But the peer pressure of Twitter is a powerful thing, and so when I realized the Oscars could not truly be avoided (and that nothing else was on TV), I decided to tune in.

My disdain for Anne Hathaway (which, truth be told, was already well established – she is a terrible actor with approximately two different facial expressions, and she seems like a pretentious snob IRL) – immediately multiplied tenfold.

It’s a shame, really, because James Franco is fun and cute and genuine and probably could have done a decent job on his own. But with that hyena giggling and shrieking and pulling every cornball move she could think of next to him, he didn’t stand a chance. She was just so phony… so completely stiff and awkwardly scripted. It was painful watching her try and be that silly, bubbly, ditzy girl who fawns all over everyone.

You're hurting us, Anne. Seriously.

She spent the entire evening trying so hard to be “likable” that I was afraid she was going to have an aneurysm. (At least then the Oscars would have been entertaining…) But at the end of the day, you just can’t teach likable, darlin.

Look, Anne, if you’re kind of a bitch, just BE kind of a bitch. Be the no bullshit girl who says what she thinks, and drop this “America’s sweetheart” BS, because it’s not your color. Trust me, people will appreciate that you’re at least being real.

...Sexy ain't your color either. Awk. Ward.

No amount of Sex Panther is going to help you out in this department, sweetheart. Liz Lemon exudes more sex appeal than you do. While holding Emily Dickinson.

"I can fit Emily Dickinson's whole head in my mouth!"

To be fair, it wasn’t just Anne. Even Justin’s oh-so-scripted Banksy jokes smacked of insincerity and indifference. Every line delivered throughout the evening was devoid of true fun- not for one second did you feel like anyone might actually be enjoying themselves up there. (Except, of course, for the acceptance speeches, which were probably really enjoyable for the 13 people thanked… and no one else. One of my tweets last night:

The 30 second glimmer of Bob Hope’s hologram showed more character and was more genuine than any other words spoken last night, and that, my friends, is a tragedy.

Yes, we’re hard on the Oscars. Sure, we enjoy the opportunity to rag on at the popular kids- though, to be fair, some of those outfits are just begging for it.

But at the end of the day, these awards shows just aren’t FUN anymore. It’s one awkward delivery of a corny joke off a teleprompter after another. No one’s real. No one’s genuine. No one’s having a good time on stage, so why on earth would we enjoy watching it?

It is the age of transparency, dear friends of the Academy. You can’t fool us with this puppet show façade anymore- these phony kissy-face stars sucking up to one another all night long, without anyone speaking a word of true emotion?

We’re Gen Y, and we’re here to tell you that we’re not buying it.

And if you’re smart… you’ll listen.

Mama said share.

Disclaimer: Events in this recollection may be far bitchier than they actually appeared.

…But were still totally bitchy. Trust.

Last Saturday, Brad, Katierose, B and I decided to experience the (well, mostly- like a 7.5?) awesome that is Iron Man 2 on an eleventy foot screen. (Math is not my forté. Shut up.)

Knowing full well that it was opening weekend and everyone in the world was going to want an eyeball full of Robby or ScarJo (respectively), we got to the theater an absurd 45 minutes early, so as to optimize our seat placement.

(Nerd alert! *pushes glasses up nose*)

Sure enough, we were the first in the theater, even disregarding the manager’s instructions that we go wait in a line that had apparently formed well after we’d arrived.

Yeah, we’re bad asses like that.

So we walk into the empty room, and obviously beeline for the front-row center of the main seating area- you know, the row that has the ohsoawesome “put your feet up inappropriately as though you were at home but at least it’s not on anyone’s head” bar. We calculated the four middle seats with our protractors, and settled in for optimum summer blockbuster viewing.

Not long after, the other suckers- I mean, patrons- started pouring in and choosing their way less awesome seats, while we sat smugly on our throne of quintessential movie viewing… and waited for the hour and a half of commercials and previews to commence.

Suddenly, what could only be an entitled Georgetown trust fund baby of 19 sauntered into our row, clearly assessing her competition.

“Excuse me,” wanna-be Blair Waldorf whined, as she smacked her gum in our general direction. “Do you think you all could move down a couple seats, so my friends and I could sit in the middle?”

Ummmm.

*cartoonish head boggle*

What?!?

*moment of silence as we exchange glances of utter disbelief*

Brad: Definitely not.

B: Uh, yeah, no. We got here early specifically to sit in the center… that was kind of the point.

Wanna-be Blair: Well, isn’t THAT the middle? *gestures to two seats to our right*

Me: Um, no. If it was, we would have, well… SAT there?

Wanna-be Blair: *in what can only be described as “a huff”* Well, you don’t have to be ofFENsive about it! *hair toss, evil glare*

I have to admit, I quite purposefully did not move my legs out of tripping distance as she passed by me. Which was probably why she muttered “bitch” under her breath, as I tried failed to hide my secret smile of victory. … It’s the little things.

I bet Robert Downey wasn’t HALF as rougish and charmingly adorable from three seats over, honey.

Enjoy the goddamn show.

Mama said share.

Last Friday, I had the grave misfortune of attending… dum dum dum… a “Work and Time Management” seminar. You see, I work at one of those huge, incredibly bureaucratic companies where, come Annual Review time, you’d better have some concrete thingamabobs to put on that form that represent trying to better oneself.

I know, I know. Total BS. But whatevs, mama needs a raise. So I’m playing the game, see?

The seminar was from 9 to 5, aka alllllllllllllllllllllllllll goddamn day. So I knew going in it would either be a great thing (i.e. an easy day off work), or complete and utter torture.

I grabbed a coffee and a seat with a few ladies I recognized from my department. I immediately noticed the four “drawing boards” strategically placed at the corners of the room, just screaming “WE ENCOURAGE ACTIVE PARICIPATION!!!”

And the sense of dread set in.

Sure enough, at 9 sharp, a rotund woman in a pants suit that did nothing for her gathered herself at the front of the room, and clapped her hands together sharply.

“Goooooooooood morning!!!”

It was all I could do not to shout “VIETNAM!” at the top of my lungs. The room gave her a half-hearted, “I haven’t had my coffee yet” bedraggled response.

I already knew what was coming.

“I know it’s morning, but you can do better than that!!! It’s FRIIIIIIIIIIday!”

Seriously, lady? SERIOUSLY? That line hasn’t been funny for the past two decades… and I’m willing to bet, neither have you.

She spent the rest of the day giggling at us like Mrs. Butterworth on happy pills while choking on corporate buzzword after buzzword.

“Urgency versus importance!” “Stressful work environments!” “Time management tips & tricks!”

At 10:40, I finally managed to escape long enough to tweet my despair…

“In a seminar w/ teacher Mary Fucking Sunshine. I honestly do not get how one can be so full of PEP and GLEE and STEREOTYPICAL CATCH PHRASES.”

I was just waiting for her to refer to us as her “special people”, a la Billy Madison.

But the most annoying part of it all? It actually wasn’t her. It was the dumbass robots around me who bought every last bit of it, hook line and sinker. The sympathetic nods as people sob-storied about working til 9pm, eating lunch at their desks, even having insomnia from getting up at 3am to handle correspondence with our Asia and Pacific branch.

Um… WHAT? Why??? We’re all assistants. I know what you get paid. Why on earth would you do that to yourself in a dead end job? Didn’t anyone ever teach you to keep the bar low??

After a couple hours of talking about our feeeeeelings, Mary pulls out her handy dandy self-developed “Time Management Matrix” tool, outlining the four categories ‘tasks’ should be labeled as in order to identify their priority in our “work plans”. Whatever, right? Let’s just get this over wi-

And then someone actually tried to ARGUE with Mary that the categories were wrong.

<Insert world’s biggest, huffiest sigh of agitated disbelief here.>

Do you really think the lady who MADE THIS UP is going to say, “Oh hey, glorified secretary, you’re right! I’ve been going about this wrong for 15 years! How silly of me to have been teaching this all over the world!”

It’s a good thing there weren’t any sharp objects in that room. I think I would have been the first person to off another human being with a stapler.

OOOOOOOooooo. I just got the email to complete my evaluation of said course…

This? Should be fun.

*evil cackle*

Mama said share.

SCHMOOP ALERT.

Yes I am drunk. And also a bit schmoopy. DEAL WITH IT.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a time when I was one of those girls who prided herself on “not getting along with other women”. I probably thought it made me sound cool, like I was one of the boys and “didn’t DO drama”, and got along better with guys than girls.

Have you ever heard a girl say that?

Yeah. It’s complete bullshit.

Yes, women are petty. Yes, they can be bitchy and conniving and fickle and evil and manipulative and backstabby and jealous and all that jazz, whereas STRAIGHT (thanks, Just Jack!) men are simpler and don’t overanalyze things to the point of craziocity, and obviously are easier to just “hang” with.

But women? Are also fucking amazing. And years later, I am proud to say I have a kickass harem of them in my life.

Yesterday afternoon was the best six hours I’ve had in a long, long time. Maxie held her Gap “Born to Fit” party, and I had basically the greatest time EVAR. Free jeans and pizza and allthefuckingwineyoucandrink are great, really they are. But nothing compares to a solid 360 (omg I am such an idiot, I cannot believe I actually put “600″ and let it sit here until 1:42, this is why I hate math and will someone please get me some coffee and an Advil???) minutes of full blown, high estrogen voltage, women-y talk. No boys allowed (not that they would ever want to)… just shooting the shit about everything from period mishaps to hair stylists, from makin’ babies to havin’ babies, from religion and politics to hampsters on a piano eating popcorn, on a piano.

It feeds my soul, it really does. Every hour or so, as we branched onto some crazy new topic and 15 fabulous women all gave their two cents, I just thought how freaking lucky I was to be surrounded by such strong, open-minded, loving and generous and all around fucking FABULOUS women.

Because under all the bathroom humor, apparently, I’m a giant, pathetic, enormous sap. No one send me pictures of cute kittens today… I’d probably just melt into a puddle of goo. Seriously, I kind of want to punch myself in the face.

There, I just did. Just for you. It had to happen.

(Love you guys.)

/schmoop.

Um, so, if I didn’t just make you vomit in your Cheerios, and you live in the Boston area, come drink with me and B Friday night! His sister’s getting hitched in Bumfuck, Massachusetts, so we’ll be out and about in Beantown on Friday evening if you want to hang. Just shoot me an email: heylivitluvit at gmail dot com. I will be in the company of awesome and amazing peoples such as Julie, Pilgrim Jill, hannah just breathe, Hope, Julie Q, Susan, Emrlds, and HOPE AGAINST HOPE, my darling brookem.

Also, B and I just finished the entire series of BSG (cough cough NERD ALERT!!!) and are trying to decide what to start next. Who better to help us choose than the entire interwebs, right??

Vote away:

Mama said share.

(Yeah, I can say that. I went to Brandeis for a year, so I’m basically an honorary Jew.)

Since I’ve started experimenting with blogger layouts, I’ve thought a lot about what makes a blog more attractive. And I’m not talking high heels and a short skirt- too obvious. I mean the big and little things that make us happy we stumbled onto a page, and even happier to stay. The aesthetics, if you will.

Now, obviously content is, ultimately, the most important thing. It doesn’t matter how pretty your corner of the innerwebs is if your writing is uninteresting and/or unrelatable. But all too frequently, I will trip over a blog that I might have liked, that I might have added to my reader… if only I could freaking stand to READ it.

So after thinking for a while about WHICH things drive me batty, personally, here’s what I came up with… (again, we’re thinking presentation, not content here, darlings).

My Biggest Blogging Pet Peeves

• If your text is unreadable on the background. We’re all doing this for free (or for 13 cents a day from Google ads). I ain’t gonna kill myself to read it, dear.
• If I click on your profile and there are 9 blogs listed as “yours”. I don’t want to play multiple choice, I just want to pay my respects (if you commented here) and see what you’re up to.
• Blatantly asking me to pimp you out. Dude, that’s just not common courtesy.
• Itty-bitty teeny weeny text, and please to put spaces between your paragraphs. We’re getting old, and I read a LOT of shiz on this monitor… Make it easy, please and thank you.
• MUSIC THAT PLAYS AUTOMATICALLY. This not only scares the bejeezus out of me, it would get me strange looks at work if I ever left my sound on. The office is awkward enough as it is. If I care to explore your musical taste, I will click ‘play’.
• Flashing or, god forbid, POP UP advertisements. Honestly, you could not scare me away any faster.
• People who never, ever, EVER respond to a single comment… (or at least visit a regular commenter’s blog to say hey). I realize I might be a little ridiculous in responding to every single one, but I can’t help it. If you take enough time to read my drivel and leave your two cents, the least I can do is respond to you, or head over to your corner and see what you’re up to. As Nicopolitan was kind enough to say in a 20SB Blogger discussion, I try really, really hard to make sure this place is a two-way conversation, and that you all know how much I value and appreciate you taking the time to visit.

Phew! So that’s MY beef, y’all. After getting all that out, I was curious what you all thought, too… So I took it to the streets, aka the Tweet and the Facebook. This is very important research, peoples!

The Question: What are your biggest blog pet peeves that keep you from reading? I.e. font, colorings, strange odors, etc.

(Ed. note: These are somewhat paraphrased for brevity, but I believe I kept your points intact.)

On the Gchat:

Caviandra: Maxie and I were talking about this the other day- unreadable fonts! Oh, and run on sentences. And lots of LOLZ and “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” (Amen. Lolz!)

Lemmonex: hmm… useless comments. and shitty layout, or if it’s complex and there’s too much going on. give me something to focus on. you dont need 7 fonts. (Useless comments are so hard to respond to, too. Blah.)

From the Twatter:

tracyneproski: @ LivitLuvit: I hate it when people use “u” “r” “2″ etc. in place of words (but only when they do it un-ironically) (Agreed! Ironically is TOTALLY fine, though, of course.)

loveshan: @LivitLuvit: when people complain about losing followers, begging for comments, etc. i feel like blogging should be about creating bonds, not raising numbers (Absolutely. We all peek at our stats, etc… but don’t TALK about it. Tacky much?)

kolys: @LivitLuvit: Bad spelling/grammar is the one thing which will keep me from reading a blog post. I can deal with anything else. (I don’t mind a simple “your” and “you’re” mix up, but if I have to figure out what you’re (ha!) trying to say, forget it.)

thienkim: @LivitLuvit: my blog pet peeve is music that plays automatically. thank goodness for my google reader (This drives me INSANE. And scares the crapouttame.)

gingermandy: @LivitLuvit: my BIGGEST pet peeve is when people only put partial posts in their feed. and when their text isn’t on a solid background. (I’m sorry, I’m sorry! No partial posts again, I promise!)

whateverkaty: @LivitLuvit: Music playing automatically! But I keep my speakers off to combat that problem. (Me too- at work. But at home? Gets me every time. Gah!)

courtincolorado: @LivitLuvit: really long posts…i have a short attention span (Don’t we all… we are Gen-X and Yers, after all.)

makarlin: @LivitLuvit: I stopped reading one because it would play Daft Punk when it opened. Oh dear god was it annoying. (I don’t know what that is, and I don’t think I want to.)

emvandee: @LivitLuvit: Spelling errors. Grammatical errors, to a lesser extent. But I’ll give up if the spelling is generally abhorrent. (I love the word abhorrent. And YES.)

teasingdiverse: @LivitLuvit: music that automatically plays that you CAN’T turn off. Lots of flashing, blinking lights. It’s a blog, not Vegas! (ESPECIALLY ADS that do this! So offensive.)

whatagrandworld: @LivitLuvit: Really, excessively long posts that are more ramblings then anything else. That and stupid colors that make it unreadable. (“Stupid colors” – I love it.)

violetsworld: @livitluvit: strange odors for sure but bad grammar makes it 1st on the list (You love my odor. Admit it.)

aritzagoddess: @LivitLuvit: no pictures ! I love pictures, plus I’m kinda lazy to read a whole paragraph without any visual aid. (Duly noted.)

babykaycee: @LivitLuvit: Neon colored text, walls of text, lack of pictures = no read. (Neon should not happen… ever.)

From the Book:

WickedCourtni: Blog snobs: Bloggers who think that they are too good to comment to your comment, but comment on their blog clique minions all around your comment. (That would hurt my heart. This happens?)

Organic Meatbag: I echo Courtni’s sentiments…oh, and any blog that talks about Jesus in every fucking post… but then again, bloggers that are bible thumpers usually don’t visit mine… (Mine either, dear!)

ClaireMontgomeryMD: if every post is LONG, font, color, layout, BORING, bloggers who are obviously trying to get hits and followers or be the next ‘big thing’ . . . shall i go on? i’m as picky over the blogs i read (or don’t) as the men i date (or don’t) strange odors do not bother me though – especially on your blog. (I knew it. It’s “Poop” by Calvin Klein.)

PQ: What Courtni said. (She’s a smart cookie.)

and for our grand finale…

verybadcat: my pet peeves are few- truncated posts in RSS (which my own husband does despite my heated protests), hard to read font, page is too busy. other than that, i would say you’re looking at it backwards. i read who i read because i’m drawn to read. you’re a great example. how could i *not* read you? you’re effin hilarious.
there’s the comment issue too. i don’t read the big guys anymore. my time is limited, and i would rather read someone who reads me, who i’m actually *interacting* with a little, as opposed to lining up to be the 500th comment on a post. (I love you.)

So take heed, my lovelies. I think this is a pretty comprehensive guide to all things that make your interwebby peers run screaming from a blog, for your consideration.

I’ll take my public servant medal now.

(Oh, this was just me bitching? Well, I’ll take a goddamn medal for that too, thankyouverymuch.)

Mama said share.

As I’ve said before, this whole quarter-life crisis thing is throwing me for a bit of a loop. I’m having a bit of trouble figuring out how to balance out my life and how to prioritize the ways I spend my time, now that I’m A) living with my boyfriend = serious relationship and B) have a real job and responsibilities and all that jazz.

And what I’m realizing is that it all comes down to your choices. The DECISIONS that you make, big and small, every day. Like everything else, they add up to create the big picture of Who You Are and What Your Life Is.

The thing is, I’m a pleaser. (Come on… SOMEONE gimme a TWSS…) I like to make everyone as happy and comfortable as I can, all the time. I like to make friends and build bonds and work on them to make them stronger. When I go out to a bar, I’m not looking for prospects out of the corner of my eye… I’m entirely focused on spending time with the people I adore (with a healthy side of people-watching). Now that I’m no longer “on the hunt,” as it were, I should have more time to do this, yes?

And in some ways, I do. But, as I (and we all) have said, as you get older, life shifts ever so gently from a focus on Quantity… to Quality. This is true in many different facets, but obviously it is most pertinent to the people that you let in and share your life with.

Now, we spend our teenage/young adult lives forming our ideas about what a “romantic relationship” should be. Through trial and error, we determine what our Dealbreakers are, those things that we absolutely cannot abide in a partner.

But I was thinking the other day (I do that sometimes), and I find it interesting that we don’t- at least consciously- apply these same life lessons to our friendships.

Think about it. You dream about Mr. or Ms. Right, and you decide all these things they CAN’T be. It’s grounds to cut them out of your life, to say goodbye, to let them go forever. But we can’t do this with friends… you can’t “break up” with a friend unless they do something incredibly drastic and awful. Generally, you have to do the “fade-out,” and if they run with your circle of friends, this is nearly impossible to achieve, as Seinfeld proved long ago.

The solution, my friends? PREVENTION. Just like the Herp.

By the time we’re of a certain age, we need to start identifying red flags that we will use as signals that we should deter a certain prospective friendship from even beginning to form. We do this automatically when dating… why not with acquaintances??

I’ve thought long and hard about what my “Red Flags” would be… my “Dealbreakers,” if you will… and they are as follows:

Someone who is selfish. Someone who was raised to believe that they are the most important person in their little universe, and that all others should cater to their needs. They will suck up your time, your energy, your money. Even if they’re filthy rich and you’re dirt poor, when you’re the only one who ever reaches for the check out of common courtesy, you will get SCREWED. This is another fault of mine- I will fight for the check to the end, because I expect everyone else to fight just as hard (it’s how the restaurants raised me). It ain’t the case, unfortunately.

Someone who repeatedly takes advantage of you. This seems as though it should be obvious, but it’s really not. Some people have spent their whole lives learning how to manipulate others to get what they want, all the time. If you find yourself constantly bending over backwards for someone because you don’t want to “deal” with disagreeing with them? Regularly finding yourself in unfavorable situations because of them? Someone who always manages to make it seem as though *you’re* the one at fault? RUN.

Someone who can’t admit when they’re wrong. This, my friends, is truly the difference between a child and an adult. Look, I don’t care if you fuck up. We all make mistakes, and most are forgivable. But if someone is unable to own said mistakes, get on their knees, and say those two beautiful words, “I’m Sorry,”… well, then they’re no real friend to you, and their pride is more important to them than you will ever be.

Someone who has no friends. Yes, this may seem a bit cruel and unusual, but think about it… there is a REASON for this. Of course there are exceptions to the rule, like when you move somewhere new, but generally? If someone inexplicably has no real friends to call their own, it’s because they chased away those they did have, one way or another. I have been suckered into more than one awkward situation by feeling bad for someone who certainly didn’t deserve to be pitied. They were lonely for a reason, and I should have left it that way.

Someone who tips poorly or is rude to those in the service industry. Self-explanatory. And if it isn’t, stay the hell away from me.

I have a habit of wanting to trust, of feeling guilty, of giving the benefit of the doubt, when none of this has been earned.

It stops here.

Life is too damn short, people. Spend it in good company.

Mama said share.

***FYI, the Snuggie giveaway will continue until midnight tomorrow. Winner shall be announced on Wednesday! If I can manage it, I’ll somehow post a video here of us picking one of yous… but I might be too special/lazy to figure that out.***

Last week was a tough work week for B. As his job relates to all things on the Hill, he, like most of DC, is effected by the changes in the administration, and his office has been crazy busy lately. So when I came across a delicious recipe on my dear friend Smart Mouth Broad‘s page last Wednesday, I knew it was the perfect opportunity to make him a wonderful dinner and help him to relax for an evening after a hard day’s work.

Additionally, chicken saltimbocca is the one dish I never got sick of through years of working at a Maggiano’s Little Italy in college. I knew it couldn’t fail- pan-fried chicken wrapped in sage and prosciutto, smothered in a savory white wine and garlic sauce? Perfection, no? So I stopped off at our local Giant (more neighborhood funsies!) to buy the necessary ingredients.

I walking in and headed over to Aisle 1, aka processed meats and cheese. I found these weird prosciutto-and-mozzarella rolls, but no plain prosciutto. Slightly worried, I spotted an employee who was busily stocking Kraft singles further up the aisle.

“Excuse me,” I said, and waited. After about 30 seconds of emptying the box of Kraft, he managed to turn around. “Um, do you happen to know where I could find the prosciutto?” I asked.

“I don’t even know what that is,” he unabashedly declared.

Uhhhh… okay. Next. I spotted another gentleman sporting the Giant employee jacket near the milk and eggs.

“Prosciutto?” I asked again.

“Whassat?” He squinted at me.

“Um… it’s aged, salt-cured, shaved ham.”

“It’s fancy ham?” It took every ounce of willpower I had not to burst out laughing.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that. Do you know where it would be?”

“Gotta be Aisle 1. That’s where all that fancy stuff is.”

“I looked there, actually. Is there anywhere else it might be?”

“You gotsta ask the deli,” he pointed. Because the enormous sign that said “DELI” over the deli wasn’t enough information for me to find the deli. But then, I’m the asshole who can’t find the fancy ham, I suppose.

After waiting in line behind two very indecisive lovers, as he and he bickered about whether to go with the salmon or the shrimp, I was ignored for another five minutes while the tiny woman behind the counter shot the shit with the butcher.

“Yeah?” she finally asked me.

“I was wondering if you knew where the prosciutto might be,” I asked, thinking, Or, yanno, if YOU at least know what it is.

“Iz right behind yoo,” she pointed. I turned and saw a small display of salami.

“Um, there isn’t any there, actually.”

“That ain’t it?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Aisle 1, then,” she turned away dismissively.

“I looked there already!” I called after her.

“Then we out,” she called over her shoulder.

Sigh. I went back and grabbed one of the prosciutto/mozzarella rolls. I’d have to make it work. I gathered my other ingredients, waited behind six people in the express lane, and right as I was swiping my debit card…

realized I’d forgotten the fucking chicken.

FYI? Walking around a Giant holding Giant shopping bags full of food? Really awkward. But at least my baby got him goddamn chicken saltimbocca. And it was FABULOUS.

And it was definitely because of the fancy ham.

Update: The chicken is covered in provolone, not raw, lovers. You know I don’t eat food that’s not smothered in cheese. C’mon, now.

Mama said share.

This week, B and I went liquor shopping for my birthday party on Saturday.

We discovered we are great fans of Calvert Woodley in Van Ness. (Thanks Lem!)

No, like, really, really big fans.

Oh wait, almost forgot the Fresca! (Don’t judge. It is scrum-diddly-uptious with some vodka.)

So I was thinking, (shut up, I do that sometimes)… We should concoct a (simple) drinking game to play during the party. Please feel free to add more in the comments…

Every time Restaurant Refugee is wearing a suit (repeat every time you look at him): 1 drink

Everytime my Carolina girl Kdawg says “Y’all”: 1 drink

Every time FreckledK tells a story about a crazy date or suitor who seemingly cannot read or write: 2 drinks

Every time someone pokes their head out the window and waves at our next door stoop-sitters: 2 drinks

Every time KassyK strokes her or someone’s else’s hair: 3 drinks

Every time someone tries to put Shannon in their pocket/purse for keeps: 3 drinks

Every time B gets someone to sing karaoke to Rock Band: 4 drinks

Every time Lilu faceplants into something or otherwise injures herself: 4 drinks

Every time Lemmonex uses a food as a porn reference: 2-5 drinks, (depending on how hard it makes my mother blush- and my mother is in New England…)*

Super Amazing Bonus Round: If J happens to revisit a memory and has an “accident”?: SHOTGUN A BEER.

Mama said share.