Now, this alone would not be that much of a thing. Except, well. See, she's--very odd. About food.
I'll reinterate my position on food, specifically, meat.
There are only Four.
The Beef, The Chicken (variations include turkey and cornish game hen, and did I mention I'm not using human logic?), the Pork, and the Lobster (which occasionally allows fish, but very rarely and with much fighting and whimpering). That's it. I've had brief flirtations with buffalo, and we shall not even discuss the venison sitch, but you get the idea. I'm narrow and unsophisticated and unwilling to try new things, dammit, and I'm proud of it.
To clarify--internal organs I do not go near, except for gizzards, because, well, I was raised on them and by the time The Rules for Eating had developed, I already loved them. So. The exception.
And she KNOWS this. So where does she want to go?
This--this place. I did four scans of the menu before I found one of the Four, and the rest--my God, the rest. She grins and mentions liking escargot. Maybe the terror in my eyes was enough to convince her that some things should never be mentioned in my presence, such as land-dwelling mollusks cooked in garlic oil with a side of some word I dont even know. Calamari? Right. Let me count the ways I would be unable to function.
Again, me? Very limited. I'm happy with this. I really, really am.
But damn, best chicken EVER. I mean--so good it melted, with sauteed spinach and garlic potatoes and this very red sauce that you know, I don't CARE what it was, it was amazing. So, shall return and brave swordfish. She swears I will like it. She does. But she eats SNAILS. You see my dilemma.
*hugs* Happy birthday, sweetie, in case I forgot. Which I did.
Feeling pretentious, we went someplace else for dessert, where i indulged in tirasimu and child in The Ice Cream God Made to Remind Us of How Good the Afterlife Will Be. My waistline may be bitter, but you know, chasing it with hot fudge? I don't think I've had sex that was this satisfactory. Not to mention the fact there was no cleaning up after. Plus there.
But. Good food. Oh yes.
Points of interest--she's not a slash person at ALL. Upon mentioning the Meant to Be, Dammit, of Clark and Lex, she said, no, I don't see it.
I petted her and told her to keep watching.
So, we were discussing Lex in Exodus and clones, and she was quite happily discussing the Clex, which trust me, tons of amusement going on here, and then she looked at me and pointed out that if I hadn't said anything, she wouldn't have noticed, but since, it is impossible to ignore, what with the helpfulness of pointing out pool cues and all that staring.
Now? She watches QaF.
For the plot, of course. Only the plot. Of course.
We ended being out much too late, but that's fine, as we are young and resilient, and also, stupid. You know, work? What work? Oh, right, that thing where I'll be seeing one hundred something clients (I counted!).
Okay, I counted because we're back to paper logs. *shudders*
Rollover of the new system is at teh end of the month. The current system goes to read-only on Wednesday. Yes, Wednesday. Day after tomorrow. This should be fun. From an observational standpoint, everyone having to work off paper will be amusing, and I plan to be amused, since I'm well aware the bad temper? Is going to be taken out on me and the others.
Which you know, is fine. As long as I get to mock after. *nods*
Am engaged in long, long, LONG discussion regarding idealism. Also randomly adding tracks to my little player and thinking of taking it to work and hooking it into the computer so I can play them there, though I'm not sure if it's allowed. Pah, I say. Who wouldn't welcome Natalie Imbruglia on repeat for eight hours straight? A strange person indeed.
And of course, why sleep when I can waste time on the internet? I ask you, silly question.
Bought bright, bright red temp hair dye from Planet K. It's very--bright. I wonder if this is a professional image. I mean, right, it's not green, and right, I only did the front fo my hair, but....
It's very red. This pleases me.