Alyssa shelasky dating
I crave “Tiger Lily” not Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater. It was some distant-cousin of sweet ‘n sour chicken, with rice pilaf. Yep, I actually used my chefly intuition (it exists!
From picnic-blankets in Central Park, to under my blankets in California, I’ve turned to her through euphoria, emotional-ambush and uncomplicated joy. Our lives have been so busy, so self-important; Passing Strange took us away from ourselves. To observe pure talent is one of life’s sweetest gifts. I would totally snag one if I were less creatively-controlling.I left a big bowl on the stove for Spike, and at 2am I was awoken with kisses and tickles and those three words I’ve been longing for: “Dinner was awesome.” Having a bowl of Java Chip and going through odds ‘n ends. I haven’t been cooking much due to the sheer fact that no one is around to eat anything. Thank you for making my skin the color of a juicy plum and sweeping me into age 33 with grace and mojitos. Iridescent cucumbers in the garden, miles of mail and magazines, a few notes from UPS (the registry?! Too blissful to bitch about the air conditioning that we left on, or the strange smell coming from somewhere. I missed my bed - even in the fine embrace of Frette sheets and turn-down service. Birthday Girl has made her wish, over diner cheesecake and airport sweatpants, and now it’s time to say goodnight.If you make spaghetti bolognese and no one has a bite, did it ever really happen? Nevertheless, I couldn’t shake the feeling that life without children was starting to feel horribly wrong. But, at the end of the day, it didn’t matter if I was in Sri Lanka or closing a deal in Hollywood, the longing was there. This ugly wave of wrong-ness was getting worse each day, and since I have no interest in prolonged emotional discomfort, I knew something had to give, and fast.At the time of my ‘Pregnancy Now’ self-promise, I was casually dating an almost famous, newly sober musician, complete with Marlboro Reds and a man bun.As I crawled into bed with my magazines instead of my man, I thought: trying to telepathically interpret what Spike might like for the wedding.
Wondering if any men have opinions on this stuff, or if mine is particularly…hands off. As I like to say, “Just because you have needs, it doesn’t mean you’re ‘needy.’" Thank goodness for my family (we are so Little Miss Sunshine) - even for an anti-bride, there’s too much to do alone.
Yet for some reason, as NM made her way to DC yesterday, I made other plans. Spike and I shamelessly begged (ie- bribed the box office with burgers) for tickets, and a sweetheart named Hunter hooked it up. Keep stumbling on them while searching for DIY Calligraphy Sets, my obsession of the hour.
Her new “nursery rhyme” repertoire truthfully isn’t my thing. (Even though I want our envelopes to be messy, whimsical and informal, I want them . The invites should be Ashley Olsen, not Mary-Kate.)So…I accidentally made a delicious dinner last night!
The first thing he ever made me was a *morning-after* cheese melt.
The technique simply entailed: 1) Layering good cheese on good bread, and 2) Popping it inside the toaster-oven, yet the peasant breakfast came out more mouth-watering than anything you or I could ever create.
Half-a-date with Spike (our plans to check out Greektown after the show never materialized), a succulent midnight snack and the best goodnight kiss a girl could want.