pope of anything

I failed to write again today, and this time I am disappointed in myself. I theoretically could have written; I had an absolutely free day, other than dinner plans, and I intended to get all sorts of stuff accomplished. However, because I had three (or maybe four, or perhaps five) glasses of wine last night with dinner (the advantage/disadvantage of hosting is that I don't have to worry about driving home), I slept late and awoke with a raging headache. It was therefore after noon before I felt restored enough to even contemplate doing anything, and the first order of business was to clean my kitchen. This wasn't a horrendous task (at least I have a dishwasher, rendering it much easier than similar dinner parties that I attempted while living with Adit before promptly giving up on the idea of dinner parties when I realized how much I hated washing plates and silverware). But, it was still time-consuming enough, particularly since I wanted to clean everything before having another dinner guest tonight (more on that in a moment). Then, I procrastinated some more because I didn't feel like going to the gym, and by the time I forced myself to go to the gym, it was three o'clock.

However, at least I went; Alyssa will have one thing to be proud of me for tomorrow, since my close encounters with truffle butter, soft cheese, and ever-flowing wine over the past two days will not please her. After I showered, I stopped at the grocery store on the way home to get some snacky-snack type things for tonight's dinner. My dinner guest was Heather (aka dear respected madam); we were supposed to go out tonight, but when I saw the amount of leftover chicken bouillabaisse last night, I promptly invited her over for (upscale) leftovers. This was brilliant, since the bouillabaisse was still delicious, she could come over at her leisure, and we ended up talking for three hours (which never would have happened in a restaurant).

But, my weird guilt issues meant that I felt bad just serving her leftovers with nothing else, even if the bouillabaisse was a step above the leftovers that are normally in my fridge. So, I made a couple of platters of snacky-snacks -- one had hummus, olives, tomatoes, and cucumbers, and the other had cheese, dates, apples, and blackberries. This is all stuff I usually have on hand (other than the cheese, because I love it too much), so it was no big deal -- but I made the tomatoes special by roasting them with some olive oil, balsamic vinegar, garlic, and sugar, which immediately transforms them from boring, out-of-season supermarket tomatoes to orgasmically delicious best-tomatoes-you-will-ever-eat tomatoes. The fact that we ate eight tomatoes between the two of us without blinking is a pretty good indication of how great they are. So, when I got home at five, I had just the right amount of time to make the tomatoes, set the table, chop things up and organize the platters, and do some desultory twitter checking before Heather showed up.

Heather was in fine form, and she came bearing gifts -- an adorable tea set, with a little red teapot, two mugs, and two teapot-shaped saucers that are ridiculously cute. We proceeded to eat, not drink (thank goodness -- she had water, I had tea), and be merry, mostly while discussing what we've read recently, what we want to read, and what we would absolutely, categorically never recommend to anyone. She left a little before ten p.m., and I proceeded to flush the next two hours down the drain, since it felt too late to get started writing.

So, bleh. I have no dinner guests tomorrow night, so I'm going to go to bed right now, get up and take care of my procrastinating before going to the gym for my training session, and then write the rest of the day, scout's honor. Goodnight!