I’m happy to say that my earlier funk has given way to the full moon and I’m feeling pretty feisty, although I’m tired and plan to go to bed as soon as this entry is posted.
We had a good evening. I made a chicken divan over brown rice for dinner, and after cleaning up the dishes, Nettl and I went out to get groceries. No big deal, really, but we had fun and came home and put everything away. After that, we watched Top Chef, a show I didn’t think I’d like when it started a few weeks ago, but I actually do. They’re all kind of pissing me off at this point though. What a bunch of bitches, cry-babies and passive-aggressive, pretentious prigs. It’s a TV show, people, plus it’s a competition, and to top it off, IT’S ONLY FOOD! It ends up flushed down the toilet anyway. Perspective, people. Perspective. Besides, I can’t stand this pretentious nouvelle cuisine crap. A twig topped by a piece of clam the size of a black olive, lying on a plate that’s been dotted and smeared with fingerprints of orange sauce does not, in my opinion, a meal make.
Personally, I think Miguel would be a genius at a good old Philly cheese steak sandwich, and Steven had better stick to wine labels and hair gel. Tiffani can just bite me, and poor Dave, well, he seriously needs to lose the wine-induced crying jags, bless his heart. My prediction is that Lee Anne will win this Bravo competition.
And I can’t believe I’ve gotten sucked into this…
