When Food Loses All Meaning

I had a date the other night.

He was a GENUINE Southern Gentleman. Yeah. Even his name was Southern: Beau.

He was tall, he was dark-and yes, readers, he was handsome. And, I completely, well, not COMPLETELY, but somewhat, did, forget about food. He made me laugh. I made him laugh. We drank, we ate, we kissed. It was sheer perfection.

And I had lost my edge.

But let's get back to what I'm good at. What I really love-and I think you should know by now what THAT is.

Today I had a craving for a peanut butter sandwich with cucumber on sprouted wheat bread. I ate half a sandy. HALF. Because there was more. I'm still force fluidating, so an entire bucket of beef broth. The usual cucumber, sliced thick and served with seaweed chips (sixty calories for a WHOLE package-and you get the sensation of eating potato chips) was delicious.

But what I really love lay baking in the oven: it was a turkey meat loaf muffin. The mashed potatoes are lightly infused with parmesan cheese and heavy cream. So delicious. But oddly enough, they don't bake so well in the oven, they are better from the microwave-and since I don't have one, I've decided to just eat these at work from now on. Yeah. It wasn't so good. Dammit!

And I ate half a greek salad. I'm just full. I blame the bucket of beef broth.

This is my modus o: I write, I toggle between the kitchen (the computer) and the main closet room (I live in a closet) where the tv is. When a particularly boring commercial comes on, I get out of bed and lunge back toward the kitchen and my computer.

For dessert this evening, I will fantasize about the chocolate covered ginger cookies that I didn't buy today at Trader Joe's. These cookies have a dark chocolate coating and the cookie inside is chewy and the chocolate crumbles so nicely in your mouth as the cookie is eaten.

So there it is.

It was a good dinner. I had just done Root Lock AND Indie Prime (two new vids I'd recently purchased) so it was all right. The Captain had popped in to watch me. He wore grey sweatshorts and a matching grey t-shirt. He sat on the edge of my mat, his legs crossed, knees halfway up to his chest. I could tell he was curious. And I wondered, would he be visiting me later?

I'll let you know.

Pornoliciously yours,

Hilda

kisskiss