Tales from La La Land

Ever since Hard Knocks started on HBO, my desire to watch Top Chef Season 7 is fading. Fast. Both shows are on at the same time, but because I can watch the East Coast version of Top Chef, I press on.

Last night I was actually intrigued by the challenge because one of my favorite pastimes is going baseball games. Admittedly, the best part of this pastime is the beer and food. While I do think the Dodger Dog is somewhat overrated, there’s still something so satisfying about drinking a $10 beer with a 10-foot long hot dog on a scorching Saturday afternoon.

Laef and I were just discussing our plans to see the San Diego Padres play at St. Louis in September and we had the following exchange:

Me: “Maybe we should eat at Subway before the game so we have more beer money.”

Laef: “Good idea. But, you’ll still get Nachos anyway.”

True. Dat. My weapon of choice at ANY event that serves a selection of terrible-for-you-but-oh-so-good food is NACHOS.

None of the chefs made nachos last night. I can’t really blame them. How do you make nachos fancy?

However, resident freak Amanda decided to make tuna tartar. As soon as she asked Angelo how to prep it, I thought: “Mandy. You in danger, girl.”

First of all: I can’t even imagine tuna tartar in Washington D.C. at a baseball game with the potential of humidity and a heat wave. Is this what really happened to Stephen Strasburg? Did he throw Amanda’s tartar across the stadium after eating one bite? Did he hurt himself in doing so? Tartar has no business at a stadium, UNLESS you are in a suite that has air conditioning and champagne.

Anyway, her tartar was gray. Gross. She was babbling on and on and on and on this entire episode. It’s as if Bravo wanted to give us every last bit of footage of Amanda so we could hold on to that image of her lip mole and her annoying “Nothing I ever make is every going to be good…WAHHHHHHHHH” inner monologue. Bitch, you made mac and cheese. LAEF makes mac and cheese. Don’t overextend yourself girlfriend.

Luckily for me, Amanda was sent packing, and I don’t have to bitchslap her on this blog anymore. My issue with Amanda is that she never seemed to know what she was doing. She was unfocused, scatterbrained and wasn’t able to conceptualize a dish. Ever. If you want to use tuna, then you better have an idea of something that you know you can make. Why are you asking Angelo how to prep the tuna? This is Top Chef, not culinary school.

Other notables from last night:  Ed in Tiffany’s dress. What’s there to say other than it’s where he’s wanted to be all season? Is it going to be Tiffany versus Ed as the final two? Are they going to ride off to New Zealand together? Because combined, those two are racking up money and trips like nobody else.

Angelo: Somewhere along the line, Angelo took a turn. He’s clearly not the same person he was during the first 3 episodes. Honestly, I think he’s fucking with us. I think it’s a game to him at this point. He’s either not taking the competition seriously, or he has some Russian bride side issue that is hindering his ability to think clearly. I have no idea, but he’s not the frontrunner he once was. BTW, ick, ick, ick, ick. I do not want to see him in the doggy-style position talking in his sweet voice to his Russian fuck buddy. EW.

Tiffany: The next top chef? Soups and stews are her go-to, and she seems to nail flavor with every dish she puts out. If she has simple food, with great flavor, it’s likely she will cruise into the finals. It’s hard for me to buy her as the Top Chef, but she really does have an idea every week of what she wants to make, and every week she makes something that the judges like. Just, for the love of everything, do NOT let Ed in that dress. Ever.

Ed: Loved that he admitted he won a free trip to New Zealand for some annoying risotto balls.

Kelly: Angelo nailed it when he said she’s a fierce competitor, but that it’s subtle. She’s very cool, calm and collected (except when there are hot baseball players in her space…um, hello, who wouldn’t be!?) and I like the way she methodically handles every challenge, and the competiton as a whole. Another potential winner at this point.

Kevin: Meh. I’m not a Kevin fan. There’s nothing wrong with him, per se, he’s just not interesting or exciting at all.

I hope they serve food at Jets training camp next week. The challenge should be: Make something healthy for Cafe Ryan so that coach doesn’t get in trouble with the nutritionists or his wife.

Back in the day, my brother and I used to play opposite day. Basically the game consisted of saying something that was the opposite of true.

Yes, it got old quick.

Since I had grand plans for this past weekend, none of which included my sweet-ass dustbuster (unless I used it naked, per Laef), I thought I’d recap our super exciting weekend.

The bad news: I did not eat 7-11 Nachos.

The good news: I stayed up past 1 a.m.

On Friday night Laef and I went to our friend Allie and Greg’s for dinner. Allie is pregnant and Greg is an Oregon grad who pretty much only wants to discuss Oregon football. He and Laef also share an affinity for watching Dave Chappelle DVDs, so the night started off with fish tacos and Chappelle show archives. Don’t get me wrong, it’s some funny stuff, but Me+Full Belly+Vodka+Comfy Couch+TV=Sleeping within 5 minutes.

Greg yelled at me every two minutes about how lame I was, so I rallied. It was kind of like when the tennis instructor told me I was lazy. I hit my next forehand as hard as I could and aimed for his balls. Greg telling me I was lame, flipped the switch.

Then we stayed up until 1 a.m. watching Oregon football highlight videos (that sounds a lot lamer than it really is). Laef set a PR for Bud Lites so we walked home arguing about who the best Oregon quarterback of all time is.

TOOLS.

The next morning things were a little fuzzy. But since my tolerance level is that of a 21-year-old slut, I was up and at ‘em by 9 a.m. By 10 a.m., I hadn’t heard a peep from Laef, so I went to check on him.

Me: “Do you want pancakes?”

Laef: “Ugh. No.”

Me: “Coffee?”

Laef: “Not yet.”

Me: “Water?”

Laef: “Ugh.”

And just like that, it was opposite day in our house. I was hoping Laef could rally so we could go to the beach, but for some reason sitting in the blazing sun with a wicked headache was at the bottom of his to-do list.

I will admit that we mopped the floor on Sunday morning, but then we went to the beach and walked around Santa Monica as opposed to sitting at home marveling at how cute Sanch is and how he looks cute on the balcony.

We are making progress people. Making progress.

The other day someone said that my blog is boring. They said they used to read it, but then I got married.

And then I realized it: If I was to do a weekend recap about last weekend, I would have told this story about how I bought a Dyson Dustbuster (which, by the way, is fucking awesome) and went to the Getty Center to look at art.

10 years ago, it would have been a blog about how I was drunk and ended up at some random dude’s house before realizing that he wasn’t even that cute, and I never should have gone, at which point I decide to walk 3 miles to Amy Longeteig’s house, stopping at 7-11 on the way to get some Nachos with a huge heaping pile of “chili”, only to arrive on their doorstep and realize that it’s 2 a.m., and of course they are not awake, but luckily they’ve left their front door unlocked so I just let myself in while their watchdog Stella greeted me with kisses and then curled up next to me by the couch.

Seriously. The dog didn’t even bark when someone entered the home at 2 a.m.

Also, the only people who eat 7-11 nachos are me and these two.

Now I’m totally refined. My drunk food is left over marinated flank steak with a side of Gruyère cheese and Wheat Thins. And usually I’m eating drunk food at 10 p.m. before passing out at 10:12 p.m.

What in the cliche fuck happened to me?

I do not want to be Lester Burnam. Jerking off in the shower alone at 7 a.m. can not be the highlight of my day. Getting yelled at over using staples as opposed to paper clips can not define my career. Walking around the house obsessing about how to annihilate any form of cat hair should not be my lot in life.

For real though. I wander around with this thing like Natalie Portman in The Professional. Do you see what they’ve done to dustbusters?

But this is totally NOT a blog about vacuum cleaners. This is a blog about how there is a 7-11 down the street from our house, and how I am making it my mission to stumble over there this weekend and eat Nachos.

Basically, what I am saying is that you don’t need your publisher to front you the money to do your own little Eat, Pray, Love type of thing. You can Eat, Pray, Love for about $1.99. First, you eat 7-11 nachos. Then you pray that your husband still finds you attractive (honestly, have you ever watched someone eat “chili”? It might look like a scene from 2 girls, 1 cup, so unless your husband is a total FREAK, he may not be feeling your “chili” lips), and then you love it up old-school style (i.e. you don’t complain about how tired you are. You also don’t say anything about ovulating, or how you need to be positioned a certain way or it won’t work.)

It’s Friday, and I’m on a mission for a super fun, NON boring weekend. Yay!

At some point during her 5th birthday party this weekend, my niece Sophie and her cousin Avery slipped away to make an audition tape for Shear Genius. I knew that they were into painting their nails, putting on eye shadow and dressing up in princess attire. You know, things that can wash off or be taken off. So when the two of them disappeared for an unspecified amount of time on Saturday, there was no reason to be alarmed.

My sister told me that she did become a little concerned when she realized it was just too damn quiet.

Apparently, it was so quiet because Sophie was focusing very, very hard on her client, Avery. Specifically, she was trying to make sure to get Avery’s bangs into a perfect V just in time for school to start next month! I’ve been told that Sophie’s cut is actually worse, but you can’t see it here. She’s apparently got a giant bald spot on the back of  her head.

This is probably more funny for me, and for my mom, because we don’t have to send those kids to school. We aren’t those parents. We aren’t the kids who have to hit up school on the first day with jacked hair. I can just hear Sophie now, “Avery, sit here quietly while I make you so beautiful. Your hair is definitely NOT going to be a hot mess!”

And then my memory started coming back to me. I didn’t have the heart to tell my mom (after she proudly proclaimed, “None of you guys ever did that”) that while she was away working and providing for her kids, a lot of shit went down that’s probably better left unsaid (i.e. light matches on the side of the house, playing with firecrackers, snooping through Christmas presents). One of the things that went down (a lot) was me using my brother as my muse.

Now, this could be a  softball muse (i.e. he catches while I learn to pitch), refining my eye-shadow applying skills, having him test out the giant hill with his big wheel before I go down it with mine, making him take the lead role on doorbell ditch, and most importantly, practicing my beautician skills.

Sidenote: Taking the lead role in doorbell ditch basically meant that he walked up to the house across the street, rang the doorbell, and had to run away fast enough to hide. All while I watched safely from our living room window.

Sidenote 2: I definitely made him let me put make up on him. A lot.

Sidenote 3: If it makes everyone feel better, I once took my bike down a steep trail and flipped over my handle bars, which led to a huge fat lip. He didn’t always get the short end of the stick.

Sidenote 4: I wrote my brother a really nice card about 15 years ago apologizing for an enormous list of things I did to him (including stealing all of his money during monopoly and eating all of the fruit roll ups before he could have any).

Sidenote 5: Fuck, I still feel really guilty about all this.

ANYWAY, while I was thinking about Avery and Sophie going to school with those bangs, I remembered something. I once cut my brother’s hair for picture day. I do not know a) why I was allowed to do this and b) why it wasn’t fixed before the photo.

So, yeah, hopefully Mike can talk to Avery and tell her how pimp it is to go to school with sweet bangs. Because, truthfully, I’m starting to think that this kind of debauchery runs in the family. Laef doesn’t seem to remember going through any sort of hair-cutting scandal with his sister. I have checked with co-workers, and they both deny ever being in such a predicament.

When I was younger, it was hard for me to not take scissors to my hair. If I wanted layers, then I would simply just try to give myself layers.

Exhibit A (Before):

Dude. Perfect hair. Perfect bangs. But, noooooooooooo, I had to get my layer on before picture day.

Exhibit B (After):

Damn. Apparently I was that kid.

So, yeah, Avery and Sophie are just following in a long line of Ross traditions. And maybe someday Avery will be lucky enough to have Brady write a blog about her and put super cute pictures of her for the whole world to see!

Things have been quite busy around the Morris household over the past two weeks, so I haven’t been as speedy with my Top Chef recaps as I was during the first few episodes. I watched part of the episode on Wednesday night and watched the second half last night.

But, I actually knew who went home before watching the second half so I’ve had some time to stew over this week’s debacle.

If you want to look at it as a cooking competition, and want to send people home based on each individual competition and dish, fine. The giant piece of blue cheese did seem to be a little much, and I’m not a big fan of beets, so I can understand the problem with Kenny this week. HOWEVER, not everyone can manage a team of chefs. What he did in the kitchen went beyond his cooking skills, and it was rather impressive.

To be fair, Angelo did the same for his team – although the red team was a bit more chaotic in the kitchen. So, if you’re looking at the two of them head-t0-head, Angelo > Kenny this week because he managed his team AND put out a really tasty dish.

As in past seasons, the cream is starting to rise to the top and the shit is sinking at the bottom. Under no circumstances should Alex or Amanda be on this show longer than Kenny. UNDER NONE. How? Forget about the fact that Kenny did poorly this week. Look at the bigger picture. What in the GD hell is Alex doing there? Or Amanda? They can do NOTHING. First of all, Alex didn’t even cook a dish because he couldn’t even do that right. Then he starts berating the servers (like, ooh, I’m a chef, and the one thing I CAN do is talk down to people) and by the time he gets out to greet people, Tom can barely look him in the eye. Can’t run the house. Can’t cook. Can barely walk without falling down.

I don’t know if Kenny deserves to be in the Top 4. He’s had some missteps with his food along the way, but, I do know that there are two people still competing that should not have outlasted him.

And this season continues to grate on my fucking nerves. SO MUCH.

This was one of those incredibly vigorous work weeks, which can be both fulfilling and exhausting all at the same time. There’s nothing better than feeling like you’re a part of something big, and that perhaps your small part contributes to the overall success. At the end of each day this week, I definitely felt like my cocktail and bath were both well-deserved.

Sidenote: This is why I did not recap Top Chef. I watched the first half on Wednesday, and finished it last night. All I can say is: Gross. These people are gross. Plastic on a toilet bowl? Really? I’m struggling to pick out whose restaurant I’d actually want to eat at.

Now that it’s Friday afternoon, and the week is wrapping up, I am looking forward to a weekend where Laef and I can spend two days doing whatever we feel like doing. And, if what we feel like doing is nothing, then so be it. Since moving into our new place 3 weeks ago, it doesn’t seem like we’ve had a single day to put up our feet and relax. We’ve spent every weekend since the move getting our place in order. Saturday’s are filled with trips to Target, IKEA, furniture stores, more trips to Target and even more unpacking. Sunday’s seem to be filled with grocery shopping, putting together furniture and doing laundry. Basically, we’ve spent almost a month getting caught up.

I think we’re finally caught up (barely), and this might be the first weekend where we won’t have any pressing house issues. We don’t have any boxes left to unpack, and I think I’ve bought everything there is to buy at Target. There’s nothing on the schedule.

I think I just got a heroin high from typing those words.

Between work and moving, I am exhausted. But, let me tell you about the good news! Our new place has a bathtub! It’s a minor thing, really, but now I’m wondering how I got through long days without the essential 2Bs, 1C (Book, Bath, Cocktail). Upon arrival into the house after work, my routine is such:

1. Drop my shit in the middle of the floor.
2. Run the bath water.
3. Make a cocktail.
4. Make sure the cat is breathing. And fed.
5. Make sure Laef is breathing.
6. Get my book.
7. Disappear for 45 amazing minutes.

Our place also has hardwood floors and one of our new pastimes is throwing The Sanch down the hall on his back (think of yourself doing it in your socks, only it’s a cat.) We also have a balcony, which The Sanch has decided will be his new hang out. It gave me a heart attack at first, but as Laef so gently put it, “Probably he will land on his feet if he falls.” He seems to have mastered it, but the problem is when he sees a bird fly by he gets anxious and contemplates jumping a little too hard for my liking. To which Laef says, “Probably he will land on his feet if he jumps.”

So, anyway, summer is coming to an end. We are one month away from the start of college football and inching closer towards college basketball season. While I do miss Laef when he is traveling, there is a whole new crop of restaurants and shops in Brentwood that are screaming for me to explore.

T-minus one hour until happy hour!

TGIF.