curtains, and tea lights. (No, he had no idea what that last item was.) To be entirely honest, I don't think he was entirely sold on the idea of going in the first place, especially while college football games were on, but I have a few theories regarding why he joined me: (a) I may have bribed him with some sexual favor (can't quite recall), (b) he probably wanted a bit of representation in my diva-esque domain, and/or (c) I might have mentioned that there's a restaurant hidden somewhere in the home furnishings mecca.
enhanced humans and how we tend to make annual, sometimes seasonal,
pilgrimages, endlessly hoping to find funky fixtures and cheap-yet-chic
textiles that will inspire us to change our dwellings just enough to
make our casas cozier. Most of the reason I head for
the store isn't really the brightly colored bookcases or the light
fixtures that scream "I'm so cool!" but for the opportunity to shovel
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lingonberry sauce and gravy-laden spheres of beefy heaven down my
We sat at a high-top table, each of us sporting plastic trays, mine with 15 roly-poly meatballs, extra lingonberry sauce, and mixed vegetables, and his with a buffalo chicken wrap. The meatballs were quite flavorful, and he gave a grunt of approval for the wrap, a blend of spicy chicken bits with lettuce and shredded cheese enveloped in honey wheat. We split a peach spritzer and a slice of princess cake, a scoop of dense whipped cream with white cake, raspberry jam, and a yellow-greenish marzipan shell. (Wanna hear something crazy? That dessert has its own freakin' Facebook site.)
Freelance writer Riki Altman eats everything that won't try to eat her first (with exceptions, of course) and dates younger men, older men, and older men who act like young men, along with locals, tourists, illegal aliens, and just plain aliens. Love Bites is a compilation of what happens when her dining and dating ordeals collide. Sometimes, it just ain't pretty.