Mood:  irritated

I really did it this week—I worked my ass off. I know you all think I'm lazy and I just sit around watching CSI and drinking beer all day (I wish), but no. I've actually been working like crazy, even after I get home from my job. 

Because of the constant threat of the budget cut, I have been scurrying around looking for freelance work. I am still writing for House & Home Magazine, but have picked up another magazine gig (which I will debut next week). I wrote two articles for my new project this week. I also did some work for my dad's company, Purple Trout, helping him with six smaller articles.  

On top of that, I was asked to do a presentation for LSU's Campus Communicators group (more on this next week), so I put together, practiced, and gave a presentation on blogging as a form of social media.

Just because my work life is buzzing doesn't mean my social life can suffer either. I was able to set aside time for the man in my life—I made us dinner one night during the week, which gave us some quality time to visit.

With my writing deadline Thursday night, I can't tell you how excited I was for Thursday to roll around. But of course, with seven stories turned in and ready to go, my eighth story had to be the most difficult. So instead of relaxing Thursday night, I worked (my friends are reading this and laughing, because in fact, I passed out for nearly 2 hours before I got to work).

When I got home from work, it finally hit me—how do parents do it? They work all day and then deal with the little brats when they get home from the office...shit. I feel like my youth should keep those thoughts out of my mind, but at this age, my parents already had me. But I know I was a perfect baby—I probably fed myself and changed my own diaper. So whatevs. 

But hey, it's Friday! There's a long weekend ahead of me, filled with football...which means food, beer, and time with my man and friends. Oh, and I won't leave out sleep—that's where it's really at. So with my brain completely scrambled and tired at the moment, I want to leave you with a list of things I've been thankful for this week. 

1. Coffee: I gave it up during detox and I'm completely back into my addiction.

2. My Blackberry and Laptop: thanks to my personal tech devices, I can multitask like a mo-fo. Send pictures and e-mails for stories during meetings? Check! Coordinate interviews during photo shoots? Check!

3. Pile of change in my desk drawer: I had enough of the silver stuff to buy myself an afternoon pick-me-up (read: Coke Zero) everyday. Like I said, back on the caffeine.

4. My Life as Liz marathon: Yeah, I watch tv while I write. And I think Bryson is mega-cute (for a 17-year-old).

5. The Mustache Man: A good mid-week visit with him cheered me up.

6. My desk in my apartment: It's big enough for my notes, a lamp, my computer, and plates of food. All extremely important to the writing process.

7. The 3-day weekend ahead: It's always nice to have your eye on the prize.

8. Girls luncheon today: it's important to treat yourself, right? So my favorite co-worker and I planned a lunch for today—treating ourselves to some bagel sammys and then shopping at our favorite boutique. Hells yeah!

9. My friends: They keep me sane. Or they just tell me I'm not crazy when in fact I am.

10. Writing: Don't get me wrong, I love writing. And I appreciate the fact that I have something I can turn to when things get tough—if it weren't for freelance, my savings account would surely suffer. So I hope I don't come across as complaining; I really appreciate all of the work I have! Of course, when I see it in print, I will be excited, too.

Have a safe and fun weekend, everyone! 

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Friday, September 3, 2010 7:52 AM CDT

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Mood:  cool

In-cep-tion: noun. beginning. 

I finally got with the program and saw Inception last weekend. At first, I had no intention of seeing it, but I feel for peer pressure after everyone was telling me just how amazing it was.

So, there is Dom (played by Leonardo DiCaprio) and Arthur (the hot Joseph Gordon-Levitt). Both are amazing thieves, Dom being the one that started it all, and then pulled Arthur and company aboard a world of corporate espionage by way of extraction—stealing secrets from someone's dream.

Together, and with the help of some weird looking metal briefcase machine, they've figured out how to construct and move through dreams to get what they want. They create layered dreams, full of mazes and people, and have even timed the proper "kick" when the sleeper jolts awake.

But the team is on their biggest mission ever: inception—to plant an idea in the dreamer's mind instead of taking it. For starters, they bring aboard a new team member, Ariadne (Ellen Page). They teach her the ropes of dream-building, which brings aboard plenty of opportunities for the movie's great batch of special effects. She learns about the rules of dreaming; that often, things don't make sense, the architecture doesn't fit together, and the people are strangers.

I was thankful for Page's character, as she caters to the audience by asking questions and getting an explanation of how extraction and inception works.

Everything is glitter and gold until Dom's past creeps up, ruining his efforts of inception. His past? His children and his wife, who I will say, is one creepy bitch. I don't want to ruin the movie with the details of the wife and kids, so I'll stop there.

In the film, Dom explains that everyone must have a totem, something only they carry and touch, that helps them know they are in their dream and not someone else's. Dom's totem is a spinning top. So, I've been wondering, what should my totem be? Maybe a weighted key from my keyboard (possibly the @ or the 3), or maybe a Monopoly piece (the hat), or maybe even a beer cap. Now that that's settled... 

My favorite part of the movie was the meat of the final chance at inception—the triple-layered dream which involved an amazing scene of Gordon-Levitt "swimming" through a hotel room and an elevator shaft. 

When I left the movie, I had a few freak out moments. I was convinced the elevator in the parking garage was going to end up in China, and I was really concerned the road was going to spilt, dropping me into the unknown.  

However, I did end up liking this movie—very mind boggling. If you haven't had a chance to check it out yet, do it before it's too late! 

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Thursday, September 2, 2010 7:55 AM CDT

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Mood:  happy

Continuing on with my "Summer-O-Fiction," I read Nicholas Sparks' Nights in Rodanthe. Now, was this the most genius piece of work I've ever read? Nope. Most romantic? Not really. But did I read it in one evening while drinking a bottle of Spanish red? Abso-effing-lutely. 

Any piece of literature that allows me to drink and still remember all appropriate names and facts is an "A" in my...well, in my book.

Nights in Rodanthe takes place in...well, Rodanthe, North Carolina. Two people, Adrienne and Paul, who meet at a bed and breakfast in said coastal town.

Naturally, Adrienne is looking over the bed and breakfast for a friend. And of course, Paul is the only guest scheduled for the next few days. To add to this amazing coincidence, they are both recently divorced and both about to ride out a nasty hurricane. Together. In the bed and breakfast. With three bottles of Pinot Grigio on hand. And you know, a fireplace. 

The entire book takes place over many years, but the meat of the matter is the three nights at the bed and breakfast. Each chapter, Paul and Adrienne share more about their lives and children with each other, and they grow from being acquaintances to lovers in the short amount of time.

I didn't notice this when I read Sparks' The Last Song, but this story about Paul and Adrienne was sandwiched inside a bigger story about Adrienne's daughter, who recently lost her husband and was trying to raise her children on her own. So the Rodanthe story is being told to her daughter as the reader reads, if that makes any sense. There was aslo added facts about Paul's past and future, along with a mini-drama about one of his patients in Rodanthe who wanted a lawsuit.

While I appreciate the detail, I could have gone without it. Call me a hopeless romantic, but all I really cared about was the story of Paul and Adrienne. I don't really care about their daily drama with work, or the hobbies of their children.

Unfortunately, Sparks' spent 90 percent of the pages building up a great amount of sexual tension that was never really cured—leave it to a man to piss me off, even in literature. But I have to hand it to Sparks, he sure has found himself a niche. Like I was telling one of my coworkers, Sparks may be the laughing stock of his poker buddies, but he's the one laughing all the way to the bank. I am convinced he is to cheap romance thrills as Stephen King is to calculated horrors.  

Thanks to my dad who, after my request, bought me three Sparks' novels on his trip to the World's Longest Yard Sale, I've got two more lovely novels to eat (er, drink). So far, both of the books I've read, The Last Song and Nights in Rodanthe, have taken place in North Carolina. After checking out the remaining two books on my desk, I see these call North Carolina home, too. Do I smell a native?

According to his website, he was born in Omaha, Nebraska...moved to Minnesota...left for Los Angeles...got accepted to Notre Dame...transferred from Sacramento to (AHA!) North Carolina! 

While I suspected that, a few more things on Sparks' biography page are interesting. I'm assuming the darker side to all of his books come from the fact that his mother was killed in a horseback riding incident when she was 47. Later Sparks found out his younger sister has cancer.

Then, he wrote The Notebook. It sold for $1,000,000.

Like I said, laughing his ass off on the way to the bank. But yet, money can't buy happiness...Sparks found out his son was autistic the same same year his father died in a car crash.

 Of course, there is way more to his life, but I won't continue—don't want to be the Debbie Downer for once. While Nights in Rodanthe wasn't better than The Last Song, I still enjoyed it. It was romantic and poetic—each chapter ended with something along the lines of, a stormy night, in Rodanthe.

Sigh.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Wednesday, September 1, 2010 7:37 AM CDT

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Mood:  amorous

Last Saturday night, I joined my friends to see Mississippi band, Jimbo Mathus & The Tri-State Coalition. Before I was invited to come along, I had vaguely heard of Jimbo Mathus, but had never actually heard them. All I knew was that they performed bluesy-country music. Sounds good to me...

But their sound was great—more blues than country, with a whole lotta soul. It brought me back (to the old school, 'cause I'm an old fool)to about 8th grade, when I saw on of my favorite blues artists in concert—Jonny Lang.

Lang wasn't my first taste of blues—it was something I grew up hearing. But Lang was the first artist I liked on my own, without my parent's help. So my friend Ale and I, along with my mom, piled into an Indianapolis theatre to see our man. Once we got to our seats, I realized we had entered an entirely different world...and it was full of dudes in biking leathers.

It's no new concept that the music we like helps others put us into categories. I have always been thankful that I enjoy many different types of music, and I get to see all sorts of different people. So, there I realized that while I had been dancing in my room to "Lie To Me" (something I still do), there were burly men working on their bikes listening to the same thing.

On the flip side, there was Lang—a 17-year-old blues sensation (and he was looking damn good), which is incredibly young for any artist, but even younger in the blues' world. People seem to think only seasoned, older people know life well enough to sing the blues. But I think it's a genre open to all. And Jimbo Mathus definitely sings the blues. 

After a little scan through Google, I learned a little about Jimbo. He grew up in Mississippi, listening to blues and later started a little project: The Squirrel Nut Zippers. Ummm hello? Who remembers them? Me! And who would've thought the man on the stage at Chelsea's was the guy who put that act together (an act that sold more than a million copies). But it gets better.

Mathus has worked with Elvis Costello and Buddy Guy—he even played guitar on Guy's 2001 album, Sweet Tea, which was a number one blues album. He did work on Guy's Grammy-winning record, Blues Singer and has traveled on tour to perform with him.

Mathus describes his current project (Jimbo Mathus & The Tri-State Coalition) as "Mississippi Music," with a sound of "inner-planetary honky-tonk."

Whatever the label, I thoroughly enjoyed the music, and the performance in general. A good time was had by all. Check out Jimbo Mathus on Facebook here.   

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Tuesday, August 31, 2010 7:39 AM CDT

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Mood:  sharp

Last night, I got to see the multi-talented David Pogue speak on LSU's campus. I was most excited to see Pogue for his work as a tech columnist for The New York Times. However, he has excelled in other areas, too. He is an Emmy Award-winning tech correspondent for CBS News, a former composer for Broadway musicals, and a Yale graduate. Pretty effing cool, right?

Technically, he came to campus for a Q-and-A. However, he started things off with a little snippet of his life, which I found very interesting. Pogue said he spent 10 years writing Broadway shows that were never produced. Then, a computer program called Finale made its debut. Finale is a program that would write the music you played. While Pogue was familiar with the program, famous composers and pop artists wanted him to teach them how to use it.

Apparently, Pogue's Yale degree gave him a great ability to explain things. So in 2000, The New York Times asked him if he would take over the weekly technology column.

Pogue has no background in journalism. But, after seven months of interviews (ten in total), he was given his column which he still has today—every Thursday, "State of the Art."

Pogue then started blogging (becoming the first New York Times writer to blog) in addition to his column and creating home videos corresponding with his column topic. He was doing all of the extra work for free, until he received an offer from Fox News, and later from CNBC.

Pogue said two things in his discussion that really struck me: 1. "You will have more fun with the campus satire magazine, than with The New York Times." And 2. "I've never called myself a reporter, I write an opinion column...It's been fun and none of it did I plan. I was supposed to be a Broadway guy."

Sigh.

While I do chase the idea of someday being published in The New York Times, I've never thought of it in terms of actually working there. I hope one day I am published in the Modern Love column or my wedding announcement is in the pages or a review for my best-selling book (one can dream, right?). 

So, the fact that Pogue has a steady gig at The Times is a catch-22 for me—like, how the eff did that happen? But then on the other hand, there is this idea now bouncing around in my head that someone with ABSOLUTELY NO journalism background can make it in the writing world (no offense, Pogue). I think I'll go with the latter train of thought.

So yes, I have had some fun writing for the smaller papers and magazines, doing radio, learning web writing...but I'm not giving up on the bigger scheme of things.

To my second point, I simply think it's amazing the turns life takes before we know it. Things happen that we never plan for, and often, I find those are the things that give us the most joy. So cheers for the unknown!

What I took away from Pogue's visit was another something he said about advice he received from one of his professors at Yale. Pogue said he'd never had a B in his life, but one professor would never give him an A. So when he went to him for help, the professor told him "every piece of writing is fundamentally intended to be persuasive." When you think about it, it's true! Pogue says he uses that advice in his work as a critic—for every column he writes, he is on a mission to persuade the reader that he is correct.

Genius.

Pogue answered several questions from the audience (mainly students who obviously had a journalism assignment), but then, to my delight, he sat down at a piano (the first piano ever in the LSU journalism building) and played.

He took songs we all know and changed the words to comment on technology...songs like, "Apps, I did it Again." Pretty funny.

I'm so glad I got this opportunity. Meeting other writers will never cease to amaze me. I love learning about their process, their successes and failures, their ideas. But most of all, I find inspiration that we have so much in common.   

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Monday, August 30, 2010 7:43 AM CDT

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Mood:  chillin'

Earlier this week, I finished reading Chelsea Handler's third book Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang. Since I loved her first two, My Horizontal Life and Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea?, I was pretty stoked to get my hands on number three. 

Things were off to a great start—chapters one and two were absolutely hilarious and had me literally laughing out loud. In chapter one, The Feeling, Handler explains how she learned how to masturbate; when she was eight years old at a slumber party. How classy, right? Like any sick child (I suppose), she becomes obsessed:

"When my brothers would come home from college, they would always hang out in the second living room, but that didn't stop me. I would sandwich myself in between one end of the sofa and the ottoman, and all they could see was my head pop out so I could check to see if they were watching me and wipe my brow with a beach towel. I sometimes wondered if they had any idea what I was doing, but I had grown so accustomed to sexually assaulting myself whenever necessary that my self-awareness became clouded. It never occurred to me that when I got up from one of these positions, the other people in the room would wonder why I was drenched in sweat with my jeans wedged up to my nipples, my eyes crossed, and a severe case of cameltoe, and chapped lips. I didn't care. I had bigger fish to fry (13)."

In chapter two, When Life Hands You Lemons, Squeeze Them into Your Vodka, we learn of Handler's childhood obsession to get a Cabbage Patch Doll. However, her parents don't understand why she wants material items to fit in, so she must beg for one to get what she wants:

"My mother came into my room later to ask how much the dolls were, and when I told her, she told me that my father would not be happy. By this time in my life, I'd had enough of their shenanigans and bargain hunting, and I definitely felt like I had plenty of stored resentment to make a case for myself. I walked into the living room, where my father had parked himself with a corned beef on rye, and started my case.

'Here's the deal, guys. I can't go on like this. We can't go on like this. You two are a joke. I am nine years old, trying to make the best out of a situation that is unlike any of my peers'. I have five older brothers and sisters who seem to have fared better than me, mostly because you birthed them when the two of you had a clue as to how to raise a child. I am competing with people in this neighborhood who have access to swing sets, and in-ground pools I can only dream of, and cars that work the first time you try to start them. This isn't a god foundation for the rest of my life, because I will only end up feeling like I'm enough or of any worth. I will depend on my looks, which will turn me into a shallow, eating-disorder whore who will end up selling her body just so she can buy herself an eternity ring. Reading the Boston Globe  is not helping my cause. I need to read Sweet Valley High  and watch Family Ties and have sleepovers where we gets 'the feeling'. I don't even know what you guys do for a living, which brings me to my next topic: Does either of you have a job (30-31)?'"

However in the chapters following, we meet the recent Chelsea—the one who has money and fame, due to her previous best-selling books along with her comedy show on the E! network. Frankly, while I think Handler is funny, her stories about watching Sex and the City: the movie while eating hot pockets in her tech-ed out apartment just aren't as funny as the ones about her father's car dealership in the front yard. Needless to say, I was pretty disappointed in this book. 

Of all of her books, Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea? rings in at number one on my list—I feel like Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang is just riding on the fumes of those before it.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Friday, August 27, 2010 11:20 AM CDT

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Mood:  quizzical

This is the first week of classes, kicking off the fall semester at LSU. Every year when this sweet day rolls around, I get a little nostalgic. I remember packing for school, saying goodbye to my cat and partner in crime, Lucky, and hitting the road with a near 15-hour drive ahead of me. 

The entire summer before I left Indiana, it was in the back of my mind—sure, I was going to miss my friends, my family, my own bedroom...but I knew a slew of interesting adventures awaiting me in swamp country. What an understatement.

But when moving day finally rolled around, I had a bad attitude. I didn't want to leave. The original plan was for my mom and I to make the drive to LSU, and she would help me move into the dorm. But I wasn't ready to say goodbye. So my best friend Angela and her mom agreed to join us on the trip.

All was right in the world.

The day we moved into my dorm, a Saturday, it was hot as hell. Hauling Rubbermaid bins full of extra-long sheets and school supplies wasn't really my cup of tea, but it had to be done. Since I had arrived a week before classes started, in order to rush for a sorority, my roommate hadn't arrived yet. So Angela spent the night on my mystery roommate's bed—that was my first night in the dorm.

The next day was a casual goodbye; my mom didn't want to make it a big ordeal. Which was probably the best decision. After all, it wasn't goodbye forever. Like most families, the bond with my parents grew once I got out of the house and we weren't getting on each other's nerves.

So on the Thursday before every fall semester begins, I see the parents rolling in, looking for the correct dorm, their mini-vans packed to the gills with shower caddies and computer accessories, all neatly labeled.

As I was catching up on The New York Times this week, I came across an article that touched on this very subject of parents letting go, "Students, Welcome to College; Parents, Go Home."

The article says colleges such as Morehouse College, University of Minnesota, and Grinnell College have created a formal "Parting Ceremony" that forces parents to get out and let their college kids be.

Wow.

These formal goodbyes come in many different forms, one in particular made me laugh—the students walk through the gates of campus, while the parents watch before the gates swing shut leaving them outside of campus. Others involve a ceremony with students on one side of the room and parents on the other.

Seems a little harsh, but according to the article, parents sticking around campus has become a recent problem (some even attending the first day of class with their son or daughter) due to the "Baby On Board" generation—or the parents who are living vicariously through their children.

At the company cookout last weekend, I remember one of my coworkers saying that when she left for college, her parents didn't even go with her to help her move in. I blame this on the fact that she probably went to college an hour away from home, but still.

Letting go of a son or daughter when they go to college, or even off to the military, is something I won't understand until it happens to me. But I hope when it does, I'm not left outside of the gate.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Thursday, August 26, 2010 7:46 AM CDT

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Mood:  incredulous

I recently finished reading The Carrie Diaries by Candace Bushnell. While it is her sixth book, it is her first in the teen genre, as it is Carrie before Sex and the City. 

As I've mentioned before, the Carrie in Sex and the City (the television series) is much different than the Carrie from Sex and the City (the book). However, both characters don't reveal much of anything about her past...so The Carrie Diaries were a chance for us to see where she came from. 

Truthfully, I don't think I gained any real insight on Carrie, but it was still a good story—I definitely would have enjoyed it as a teen, too. Carrie is growing up as the oldest daughter of three, raised by her widowed father. Like most high school seniors, she struggles with fitting in, dating, and planning for the future.

While she wants to be a writer, her father wants her to be a scientist and study at Brown. Carrie makes an attempt to gain entry into a prestigious summer writing program, but fails on her first try. She makes an effort to get better at writing, by joining her school newspaper staff, which brings on an adventure.

She also begins dating the most popular boy in school, who packs quite the drama between Carrie's friends and even her family. The Carrie we have come to know and love can be seen in the way she acts toward the boys she likes—she isn't herself, and does whatever they want her to do (Hello, Mr. Big). Her fashion sense is the same, and her dream of living in New York City is bigger than ever.

 According to a review in People Magazine, there will be a second installment of The Carrie Diaries next summer. Is Bushnell the leading lady on marketing to women readers? I mean damn! 

The book was good and I would recommend it to any Sex and the City fan even though it isn't as revealing as we probably all wish it was. Since we don't know anything about Carrie's past from the start, Bushnell could've made it any past she wanted it to be. However, at the end of the book, there is a definite hook that only Sex and the City fans will understand.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Wednesday, August 25, 2010 7:42 AM CDT

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Mood:  cheeky

Remember that time when my boyfriend cheated on me, lied about it, then dumped me for his new woman? In return, I told the world about it in my fabulous blog, told him to quit stalking me and pretend I was dead, and I took the one remaining piece of physical baggage I had from our relationship—a sterling silver Mignon Faget Single Knot Ring (see it here)—and put it on Ebay.

A lovely Baton Rouge woman, Jill, offered me a very pretty penny for it, I happily packed it in its original suede bag and box and wished her all the best. 

I promptly went out and spent the cash on something just for me. I wanted something extravagant, that I would never buy for myself. Yesterday, that something arrived in the mail. Take a look at these beauties:

According to DSW.com—"Both daring and comfortable, the NYLA Feliciana velvet platform boot is the latest in fashionable footwear. It may be worn over the knee, or cuffed for a fierce knee high look."

Umm...hello sex kitten! I absolutely cannot wait until it gets a little chilly out, so I can lace up these amazing boots! I don't think I've ever been this happy to get dumped! Not only have I had a blast being single, I've realized so much about myself and what I have to offer someone else, but I'm going to look damn good doing it...in my new kicks. 

"You keep lying, when you oughta be truthin', and you keep losin', when you oughta not bet. You keep samin' when you oughta be changin'. Now what's right is right, but you ain't been right yet. These boots are made for walkin', and that's just what they'll do, one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.

Are you ready boots? Start walkin'!" —These Boots Were Made for Walkin', Nancy Sinatra 

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Tuesday, August 24, 2010 7:41 AM CDT

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Mood:  flirty

Friday, my office had a company cookout—it was very much like the party in Office Space...only no one was talking about showing anyone their "O" faces (although it probably would have been a little more interesting if they had been). Just saying. 

Anyway, no matter how cynical everyone may think I am, I decided to whip up a little something to contribute to the party. It's been awhile since I got out my recipe book and went to town. But when I heard about the cookout, I remembered the perfect recipe I had stashed away—the Bloody Mary Tomato Salad.

In last year's July issue of Good Housekeeping, they had a slew of recipes for a potluck BBQ, including caramelized onion and goat cheese panini, artichoke and mint dip, cantaloupe and cucumber salad, and corn and barley salad, along with the Bloody Mary dish.

So Thursday night, I made the biggest Bloody Mary of my bartending career—one that serves eight. For the salad, you will need 2 tablespoons of prepared horseradish, 2 tablespoons of olive oil, 2 tablespoons of vodka, 1 tablespoon of fresh lemon juice, 1.5 teaspoons of hot pepper sauce, 1 teaspoon of Worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper, 3 pints of cherry or grape tomatoes cut in half, 4 stalks of celery cut into 1/4-inch diagonal slices, and celery leaves for garnish.

As usual, I tweaked the recipe to my liking. I added fresh green beans to the salad which I put in boiling water for three minutes before dropping them into an ice bath. I also added a couple pickled okra, sliced down the middle. In the south, we drink our Bloody Marys with a kick—so I doubled and tripled the ingredients for the dressing. The result was very tasty and very much like one of my favorite brunch beverages.

Although my coworkers seemed to enjoy the salad, I set aside a portion for the newest man in my life to try—it will be his first taste of my cooking. If he hates it, we are through (totally kidding). 

Cheers! 

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Monday, August 23, 2010 7:47 AM CDT

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