Tales from La La Land

Tonight will be our last night in our little beach cottage. All this time we thought it was a modest 700-square foot dwelling that we made work because we were steps from the beach. It’s easy to justify having no closet space when you see this everyday. However, the other day Laef got out his measuring tape to figure out what the actual square footage.

500 square feet.

That made it even easier to continue packing boxes in anticipation of moving into a place with some real space. Not that our new place is huge, but compared to what we’ve been making work for 3 years, it’s going to feel like we can breath a little. I honestly don’t know how we made it work, but I guess we just like each other a lot to be that close day in and day out.

Despite the size, the lack of air conditioning and the commute to work, it’s a little bittersweet to be leaving. When I ran the Eugene Marathon in May, one of the things that kept me occupied was the fact that by running 26 miles around Eugene, I went past almost every place I lived in when I was in there. Between 1996-2007 I lived on Harris St., Mill St., 18th Street, Ferry St., 245 Marche Chase Dr., 295 Marche Chase Dr., Crest Dr., and Cal Young Rd. I moved almost every single year while I was there.

I have no idea why I did that.

Poinsettia Ave. in Manhattan Beach has been our home for 3 years. That is the longest either of us has lived anywhere since leaving home at 18.

There are a lot of memories.

The Six Man. That was one of the first things we did after moving in. We didn’t know what to expect, and let’s just say it became one of our favorite things to do every year. People are insane. And, it looks like we’re moving just in time because the city is trying to crack down on it big time.

Perfect Sundays. There was no better place to walk out your front door and go on a walk. We could walk to the beach, or we could just walk around the neighborhood and look at all the houses we will never buy. We went on many, many walks. It was also the perfect town to train for a marathon. I think I’ve ran on almost every street in Manhattan Beach. There’s no other place I would have liked to train. I will miss my running routes.

The Check Out Lady At Ralph’s. OK, this is random, but the same lady has worked at the self-checkout line at Ralph’s since we’ve lived here. I love going through self-checkout whenever possible because I really hate the way people bag my groceries. Yes, I am anal, but honestly, when grocery baggers put 3 things in one bag and then double bag it, I hate it. As we all know, I used to have problems with the self checkout. But, I got better, and this lady is always there to quickly save you if things go wrong. Eventually, she stopped asking for my ID (I guess she kind of got used to the wine purchases), and would exchange eye rolls with me when there were people with 700 items trying to go through the self. Randomly the other day I said bye as I was leaving and she said, “I don’t know why, but you always make me smile when I see you.” I already liked her before she stroked my ego, but that was so nice to hear at the end of a long day. I told her that I felt the same way. Then I told her we were moving. I couldn’t believe that me and the Ralph’s check out lady had gotten so close.

That’s the thing about moving. It’s hard to leave your routine behind. I have my favorite grocery store, my favorite sushi restaurant, my favorite bar, my favorite dry cleaner, my favorite gas station, my favorite breakfast spot, my favorite running routes, and my favorite memory of all: my wedding day.

Sanch has his favorite windowsill and his favorite barf spot, so he is also struggling. At this point he has no idea what is going on, he only knows that there is a lot of cardboard to eat, and a lot of boxes to play with. What he doesn’t know is that he’s about to enter a world with an air conditioner. His life is going to change forever.

We will have an extra room, and I won’t miss  people having to sleep on an air mattress on our living room floor.

Will also not miss: The 405, overpriced touristy restaurants and questionable plumbing.

Brentwood here we come!

Uncomfortable mentorships?

Check.

Crabs baked alive?

Check.

Crabs fried alive?

Check.

Crabs hacked in half while kicking?

Check.

Crab hepatopancreas all over Alex’s table?

Check.

Cooking in freezing temperatures with a Toyota pantry?

Check.

Everything about Episode 5 was uncomfortable for me. From the beginning to the very end. First we see Angelo and his balding head whispering cooking tips into Tamesha’s ear. Then he talks about her sexiness. As if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, we then see Ed nuzzling up to Tiffany.

My brain got confused because I started thinking that I was watching Real World DC. For a few fuzzy moments I had completely forgotten that I was, in fact, watching a cooking show.

Bravo gets me back on track with a crab challenge. OK, now we’re talking. I like crab. Then Angelo says, “I had crabs. This brings back bad memories.”

Again, with the Real World talk. Now I can’t even think straight.

Back to the crabs. Just as I was not prepared for the softer side of Ed, I was NOT PREPARED TO WATCH LIVE CRABS COOKED, CHOPPED, BAKED, BOILED ALIVE.

I get it. That’s part of cooking. I watched Julie and Julia. I know you have to boil them alive. But, this was too much. Too many waving claws through the oven window. Too many claws from too many angles.

It took me a while to get over what I had seen, and I’m not even sure what people made. I think Ed won. Woo.

Moving on to the elimination challenge. This was almost as painful for me to watch as slow-dying crabs. Who wants to cook under a dark sky in the freezing cold? The whole challenge seemed dark, cold, uncomfortable and strange. Why was there a giant table out in the freezing cold? How can you keep warm food warm? Why is Angelo calling Tamesha’s cherry compote sexy? Did Kenny knock over that couscous on purpose?

It was hard to tell what everyone cooked because, again, I was thrown off by so many other weird details. Timothy went home, and I did perk up at that point. Because I thought I’d finally be rid of Stephen’s creepy mug. No such luck.

Still waiting for a breakthrough episode that makes me proud to be a Top Chef fan.

The weather in LA has been bullshit.

Laef and I had planned to spend our last weekend in Manhattan Beach lounging around, swimming in the ocean, soakin’ up some rays and bidding farewell to our home of the last 3 years. Unfortunately, not only was it cloudy last weekend, it also rained on Sunday. There is a silver lining to the whole thing, however. It forced us to stay in and pack up most of our belongings. We are now basically ready to load the U-Haul on Saturday morning without having to spend much time packing.

To date, the saddest part of the whole moving process was watching a young family come by our house to buy our beloved Weber Grill. We are not allowed to have a bbq at our new place, which is common practice for apartment buildings. A little piece of me died inside watching them wheel it down the driveway. What’s summertime without a little smell of coal and lighter fluid? What’s summertime without watching Laef grill a peach and proclaim, “Dessert time!” What’s summertime without hitting up Whole Foods with Nick Dozier to buy giant scallops and fresh sea bass to grill while drinking beers? What’s summertime without a Weber Grill?

As you can see, I’m taking it well.

Anyway, today the sun finally came out. It’s a gorgeous day in LA. A perfect summer day for sitting behind a desk in an office with no windows. As I drove into work this morning I heard the forecast for the week: Hot today, hotter tomorrow and triple digits by the weekend.

Are you fucking kidding me? I mean, I am all for summer and the sun. But, moving boxes up and down stairs in triple degree weather does not seem like a fun activity. I immediately think of my good pal, Erin, who has graciously offered to help us move. Erin is hot when it’s 45 degrees. Erin puts ice packs on her head and neck while sitting motionless on the couch during summer days. Erin moving around with heavy objects during a heatwave makes my life. I am currently seeing if I can have a Japanese Ice Suit FedExed to LA by Friday. My 8 ball tells me outcome not so good, so maybe we’ll have to go with Plan B.

Despite the weather forecast, we are beyond excited to be moving. We are already getting familiar with our new neighborhood by starting tennis lessons at a Rec Center down the street from our new place. Last night was the first lesson, and it was not quite what I was expecting. For starters, I was expecting an Andy Roddick lookalike as our instructor. Nope. Our instructor had dreadlocks, and might have been 20 years older than Andy. Secondly, I thought there’d be some old people in the class. Not so. I am probably the oldest person in the class. Which isn’t as bad as Laef’s dilemma: HE IS THE ONLY BOY IN THE CLASS. Yes, it’s 7 girls and one tall ass dude shanking balls all over the Barrington Rec Center.

It. Is. Fucking. Priceless.

More blogs to come on tennis lessons. Since we pretty much learned how to hold the racket, pick up balls and ran 2 laps yesterday, there’s not too much to report on Class 1. I However, I think some good material will be coming.

Maybe summer is starting to look up after all.

Well, my dirty mind was almost right. I thought for sure at some point the chefs would be required to make a dish using Padma’s breast milk. Before you eye roll at me for being completely inappropriate, was Padma, or was she not, putting her knockers on display in the first two episodes like some kind of foreshadowing for a boob challenge?

It turns out that her baby (and Tom’s) will in fact come into play this season. On this week’s episode the chefs compete for hookers and an 8 ball in the Quickfire challenge. They have to make a dish that will please Padma and Tom, but that can be pureed to please a baby. Personally, I found this challenge to be totally cockamamie because even though seared Duck and spinach puree might be OK for an adult, the thought of pureeing it together for a baby seems gross. Even the winning dishes – vegetable chowder with salmon, for example – didn’t seem like they could be kid-friendly even if they were whipped into a frenzy, put on a cute plastic spoon, and shoved in my mouth after doing the airplane maneuver. (Is it a fact that kids will only eat food if you make it seem like it’s coming in on a plane, train or teat?) For a much better description of why the Quickfire was lame, read this hilarious post.

Maybe Tom and Padma’s kids eat different things than normal babies since they have chef genes. Or maybe babies really like pureed Duck.

The Quickfire was all about bringing our attention to two people who, in all honesty, I had no idea were there until this week when they were atop the Quickfire challenge – Lynne and Tamesha, who were Tom’s top two. Padma picks Kenny and Angelo as her top two.

Tom picks Tamesha and Padma picks Kenny. They each win 10K.

The elimination challenge is way too complicated to explain, but they compete in teams of two and at the end of it one team (that’s two chefs) will be eliminated. They will cook a breakfast, lunch and dinner meal that should appeal to travelers staying at the Hilton Hotel. Why can’t Stephen and Lynne be on a team??!! Or Alex and Stephen???

No such luck.

I see a lot of Lynne in interview sessions, and I’m starting to get excited that she is going home. Her partner is Arnold, and since he “wants to be known as more than a Louis Vuitton bag”, there’s just too much evidence pointing to them going home. Seriously. Arnold will never be more than a Louis Vuitton bag. The guy gave great interviews, but he was afraid of scuff marks. Also, he said black mussels on black pasta provided a really great contrast. I just can’t anymore.

The best part of the entire elimination challenge was watching Isabella try to fit in at that judges table. He agreed with whatever Bryan or Padma or anyone else said. He also had food on his chin after every bite. Bryan picked apart every single dish, almost as if he couldn’t wait to be on the other side of the table. Bryan’s a great chef, and being judged day in and day out was probably not a fun experience for him. He’s a perfectionist to a fault, and it showed in his judging comments. Loved it.

Isabella made sure to point out that Bryan was hammered for messing up an egg during their season, and it was great to see them be able to reflect on the rigors of the competition and have a laugh about it.

I just loved how cocky and confident they were being at judges table as opposed to standing in front of it. They weren’t giving the chefs any breathing room at all. Probably because they weren’t given any during their season and it felt fucking good to dish some of that criticism back out.

Based on the judges nit-picking, it seems like all the chefs shit the bed on the breakfast challenge. Perhaps the judges were SICK OF EATING POACHED EGGS for 2 hours.

The teams Tim/Tiffany and Stephen (FUCK)/Angela win the breakfast portion of the elimination challenge and therefore they are safe, and done cooking.

The rest of the chefs have to now cook lunch.

Alex cooks the shit out of scallops and saves his team. Angelo does something pretty while looking pretty and saying pretty things and saves his team. Alex, Ed, Angelo and Tamesha are safe after the lunch round and do not have to cook dinner.

My eyeballs start to hurt as I now have to watch Lynne talk, cook, complain about oven temperature and lull me to sleep with her “I know how to cook pasta” blank stare as the remaining three teams cook dinner. I don’t know what anyone was making because at this point even I was tired of them cooking. This was a daunting challenge – cooking three dishes back-to-back-to-back had to have been exhausting. By the time dinner rolled around the three remaining teams were probably exhausted mentally. At that point, cooking can’t be that fun anymore.

I will be honest, after Kelly and Andrea won I wasn’t even trippin’. There’s no way they’d send Kenny home over some jus. It’s all they’ve got at this point – Kenny vs. Angelo. Although, Kelly is making a little run here. It might get interesting.

In the end, it’s LV and Lynne who go home, and no one will ever notice.

Quote of the night: Alex (besides the whole hookers and 8 ball thing) “I practice making babies, but not baby food.”

ICK.

Were the chefs cooking at the Hilton Washington DC? Because I wasn’t sure.

Before we get going with what actually happened, here are a few things that made me insane while watching this week’s episode.

These chefs couldn’t bake or use a grill. Most of them were whining about the quickfire, and continued to whine about using, gasp, COALS! This was by far the most frustrating episode to date. I’m no Michelan-winning chef, but we use our grill almost every weekend, and I could have out-cooked half those chefs. And, I know for a fact my friend SPL would have won that challenge. That Arnold won after copying Kenny’s set up was deplorable.

A few notes on the peeps:

Arnold: Clearly he doesn’t work in the kitchen. No, he writes menus. And wears pretty ties. Although, I do love grilling on my Weber, so maybe I need to look into whether or not it really does clog your pores. He might be on to something. He does have nice skin.

Tracey: I am going to need a clear explanation from Bravo as to how she made it on the show. Is there a psychic spinoff coming on Bravo? Is there a show about people who talk to meat? Perhaps a show about people who make back-to-back shit pie?

Alex: Oh, Alex. I can’t get over the fact that the guy looks like some kind of child molester. He didn’t help his cause when he proclaimed, “I’d wanna eat the ass out of this pig all day”, after grilling pork butt. Also, he’s never taken advantage of an intern. Har har.

Ed: He proclaims that he doesn’t like chocolate, cuts down Alex for being a slob who has no technique, blah blah blah. THEN HE MUMBLES SOMETHING ABOUT CELERY AND PEANUT BUTTER.

OHMYGOD.

Is this Top Chef or Top Celery and Peanut Butter? I loved, loved, loved when Gail asked Ed how his celery foam compared to his Grandmother’s. WTF does celery foam have to do with a good-ol’ pie?

ANYWAY, Elvis is judging the pie quickfire because Bravo has to pimp its new show, “Top Chef Just Desserts”, which Elvis will be judging with Gail. It’s definitely a clusterfuck having these chefs try to make pie, but some of them actually pull it off.

Thankfully, Juicy sent Kenny a note and he gets his first win! Yay for Kenny. I really like him. Part of it has to do with his demeanor. He’s pretty chill. Confident, but not cocky. He’s not spazzing all over the kitchen, and he takes the competition with Angelo in stride.

At this point, it’s Angelo 3, Kenny 1.

I perked up quite a bit when they described the elimination challenge. The chefs have to grill on a Weber grill with coals (it seemed as foreign to some of them as baking a pie) to make a picnic lunch for a group of interns. If you’re Arnold you call interns “bitches”, which he lets us know he has never been.

Then Arnold talks again with his hand to his ear in that I’m wayyyy too good to be grilling outside and sweating and cooking! kind of way. Actually, what he says is: “I’m not a grill guy. It’ll clog the pores way too fast” and “I’m looking four tables down to Kenny to see what he’s doing, and everything he does, I do.”

Psychic Tracey Spoiler Alert: Arnold ends up winning the elimination challenge with a lamb meatball skewered with lemongrass.

I don’t know which was worse: The fact that he won despite needing a guide to get his grill going or the fact that he seemed absolutely shocked to have won. So, at this point, it appears that only Angelo, Kenny, Amanda and Kelly actually expect to win.

I can’t say who I thought should have won in his place, but my vote goes to Angela for being the first person on Top Chef to talk about her cocaine and pill addiction during her 20s. Plus, Angelo seemed to really like her ribs. So, yeah, that would have been my vote. Unless the ribs were laced with something that lead to Angelo actually saying, “I think it was better than mine.”

And herein lies the dilemma with this season. I’m sure there will eventually be a top 4 that, because of editing, seem legit. But, when you look at Angelo next to the other chefs, it’s not a competition. Kenny is legit, but Angelo is by far the best chef there. He is able to handle any challenge with ease. That’s what a top chef does: takes what’s put in front of them and makes something yummy. If I wanted a crusty blueberry pie or a nasty seabass with raw bacon, I’d have Sanch whip it up for me.

I hope Top Chef Season 8 puts the best of the best against each other: Angelo, Kenny, Stefan, The Brothers V., Jen, Kevin, etc.

In the meantime, I will block Laef’s eyes from Padma in a tight yellow dress and Alex in child molester glasses.

We Laef found our place and we are all set to move in on July 17.

My lazy ass can take ZERO credit for any of it. I didn’t even see the place until after we paid the deposit. I saw a total of one place in person. It was very clutch that Laef has several days off during the summer, so he was able to get out there and drive from Beverly Hills to Century City to Westwood to Santa Monica to see a variety of places.

I basically sat at my computer at work and sent Laef 3,238,389 links to places that I thought looked good, then he would go look, send me some pics and move on to the next place. At the end of a very long day of looking, Laef called me and said he thought he found the one.

So we took it.

The whole thing was probably for the best. Laef likes to see many, many options. He takes his time making decisions. He likes to mull over many things. I am the world’s most impatient person (the place we live now was one of  the first place we looked at when moving to LA originally), and driving all the fuck around LA is probably last on my list of things to do. I would have been cranky and grouchy, and he would have gotten frustrated as he tried to marinate on all of the options.

So, when he says he found the place, who am I to question?

The following day we submitted our applications, got approved and were able to pay our security deposit before leaving on a trip to St. Louis. The landlord offered to show me the apartment since I had not yet seen it. The current tenants were there, packing and getting ready to move.

To Eugene.

Oregon.

To teach at UO.

Say what?

We definitely found the place.

First of all, I don’t need to see Ed shaving in his boxers and wife beater. Ever.

Here we go with the irony right off the bat. Of course Jacqueline is making something for breakfast that requires 8 tablespoons of butter. Is she trying to prove to the camera that despite the fact that she failed to use butter in her liver mousse that she loves cooking with butter!? Or is it her disease?

Whatever. Cut to Sam Kass. He is hot. I commented this out loud. My  husband said, “You do love you some bald men.” (Ed Note: My husband is slowly going bald).  Bravo might be fucking with me though. It might be trying to switch the competition from Boob v. Boob to BHead v. BHead (Tom should watch out).

For the quickfire these tricks are going to make sangwiches. They have 30 minutes to make a sangwich, so obviously there’s a catch because who takes 30 minutes to put avocado between two pieces of unevenly grilled bread?  By the way, sangwich challenges are bunk. Anyone can make a sangwich. Actually, scratch that. If I was tied to Arnold I could not make a sangwich because I would be constantly wondering WTF was up with the bling on his hand. Or was that a fake hand? Seriously, what was that?

The chefs realize the winning team is going to get immunity so Kenny says something like, “Immunity is irrelevant. I’m looking at chopping each one off week by week.” For the record, he’s not fucking kidding.

The hammer drops that Angelo owns a sangwich shop, so not only is he the best chef (Kenny is going to challenge for sure), he has another clear advantage in this quickfire. And thankfucking God, because that means when he wins the quickfire with liquid love on a plate, he has immunity, and thus can’t win the elimination challenge. And now the suspense of him winning every challenge is gone.

Tracey wins the lottery in a huge way. Not only will she get immunity by being partnered with Angelo, she apparently  has a crush on him and gets to have her arm around him. However, she later talks about her raising a child with her girlfriend, so I’m thinking she’s just providing back support to the Golden One when she talks about putting her arm around him. Again, I don’t know. Bravo is making things blurry this season. Or it’s this vodka soda I’m drinking to try and make this show entertaining.

I mean for real. They tip toe around drama with the chefs during the quickfire, but the bottom line is there’s only one story to follow and that’s Kenny v. Angelo. No, Amanda, I don’t want to ro-sham-bo with you to be on the right. And, no, I don’t care that you are seductively taking of your Top Chef coat in your opening for the show.

Alex is afraid Kenny will cut him. Wahhhh.

Jacquline and Stephen win the award for most awkward couple ever.

I swear to Jesus when they showed the clip of Arnold and Kelly working together I had to rewind 4 times to be sure that the hand with the giant bling on the finger was Arnold’s. I forgot what their drama was.

Tiffany and Lynne. Who? Also, what is a knife and fork sandwich?

The Elimination challenge is to feed 50 school children for $2.68 per child. They want the chefs to understand the obstacles that come with feeding middle-school children healthy meals on a tight budget.

The chef’s are broken up into teams of 4. Angelo has immunity so he gets to pick who he wants on his and Tracey’s team. He picks Kenny and Alex. Apparently, it’s all strategery because if their team loses it’s Kenny’s ass on the line, and that would make Angelo’s life a whole lot easier. Who knows if Angelo was really trying to sabotage his team to put Kenny on the line, but he did make celery and peanut butter and claimed at some point he “turned a rock into a wheel.”

No, bitch. You turned a bunk ass, high sugar, high fat snack into a high sugar, high fat snack.

Hard to tell if he’s trying. It doesn’t really matter anyway. Jacqueline, who I fully expected to make banana pudding without banana ( you know to make it more healthy) came through in the clutch to dump 2 pounds (!) of sugar into her banana pudding and is sent home. Hopefully she and John are drinking cosmos.

She’s not the only one who completely missed the boat on this challenge, however. No, no. Our resident vixen Amanda insisted on making a sherry wine braised chicken or something. If Lindsay Lohan was at school this day, then fine. Otherwise, why do 7th graders want chicken braised in sherry wine? Also, why do they want mushy onion rice?

But, who cares anyway because the only thing you need to know about the elimination challenge is this:

Gale: “What do you think of Kelly’s taco?
Tom: “I think it’s good.”
Sam: “That is a solid taco”.

Yes, I am 12, and I loved every second of it.

Judges’ table was also awesome.

Angelo pleads the fifth. He’s so fucking cocky that you have to love it.

Everyone else is trying to establish themselves.

Stephen decides he will call Kenny out for not being more assertive in his team. Kenny replies with a dig about the ridiculous amount of sugar Jacqueline used in her pudding. Kim then fires back about the fat/sugar content in peanut butter. So, Ed says “Does Sherry wine really  need to be in the chicken?” Kim says, “They weren’t drinking it.”

Apparently Kim likes braising in sherry. Gail gives that the big fat F YOU by saying, “I like a lot of things. I like vodka. Not cooking with it.”

And with that I downed my last sip of vokda/soda and wondered if I could prove Gail wrong.

Whatsherface won for her tacos. Apparently her taco was really good.

We are now in our last month of beach living and trying to enjoy every second of it. Unfortunately, June Gloom is not cooperating with our desire to spend every waking second at the beach. Couple that with the fact that it took me 1 hour, 10 minutes to make the 12 mile drive home from work yesterday, and we are actually really looking forward to moving closer to UCLA.

Because it is summer, and UCLA student-athletes are not around much, Laef had this entire week off. I believe he spent Monday on the couch. I also believe that he has not worn underwear all week, but I try not to ask too many questions. However, I did shed a small tear when I called him on Tuesday and he was outside in our storage shed organizing things to prepare for the move. I shed 6 more tears when I came home and saw the trash cans filled to the brim with random shit that he had finally decided we no longer needed to keep.

Feeling super accomplished after Tuesday’s events, my sources (Sanch) tell me that Wednesday was spent on the couch. On Thursday, Laef had to stop by work for something, so he decided that while he was showered and wearing underwear, he would go look at some apartments.

We had a short list of top choices near UCLA.

We are seeing one of these places on Sunday, but he decided to do a drive by to check out the area. He liked it, and across the street from the apartment complex was another building that had a for rent sign, so he called the number. Apparently, a 70-ish year old lady answered and hit Laef with a barrage of questions. Are you alone? Is it you and your friend? Oh, it’s your wife? Do you want to wait for you wife?

Eventually Laef cut her off to let her know that he wanted to see the place, and also tell her we have a cat so if that’s a deal breaker, no need to waste her time.

Laef: “We have a cat. Is that OK?”

Cat-Eater: “Um, oh. Does it run around outside?”

Laef: “No. He stays inside.”

Cat-Eater: “Do you have to bring it with you?”

No, bitch. We are leaving Sanch in Manhattan Beach to become a surfer dude and pay his own rent.

Besides, who would play Cribbage with Laef if we abandoned The Sanch?

It only got better once Laef was actually able to get inside to see the place. When she showed Laef the bathroom she said, “A perfect place for your kitty”.

So, yeah, whatever that means.

During the day, I called on another place that was in a perfect location. I asked the guy if it was available right now because we won’t be ready to move until July. He said yes. I said I’d keep an eye on it, and if it’s still vacant when we’re ready to move, I will call him back.

Creepy Landlord/Hustler: “Oh, you’ll watch it like Wall Street, heh?”

Me: ….

CL/H: “Why don’t you pull the trigger. Put a deposit.  I’ll hold it for you.”

Me: “Ihavetogobye!”

It’s not so much what he said, it’s how he said it. I pictured him in a wife-beater with mad amounts of black chest hair protruding and a gold Rolex that he picked up on Canal Street. He was super pushy wanting to get confirmation without us having seen the place or met him.

In a sense, we are interviewing landlords as much as they are seeking good tenants. I don’t want to be hustling with my landlord every month or worried that The Sanch’s mug will end up on a milk carton. But, there are a TON of vacancies all over the place and it seems with the economy the way it is, landlords want to find people to fill those empty apartments. So much so that they’re willing to consider a cat even though it’s obvious they hate cats.

After meeting with creepy lady who hates cats, Laef went to our top choice to check it out. I called him later to get the scoop and see if he liked it.

Me: “What did you think?”

Laef: “It doesn’t have a shower.”

Me: “Say what?”

Laef: “It only has a bath.”

Me: “How? What? I don’t ….”

Laef: “You like baths.”

Me: “Not in the morning at 6:30 when I have 5 minutes…OK, we are not even having this conversation. I’m not taking baths everyday. Who takes  a bath?”

As my friend Erin said, Ernie takes a bath. That is who takes a bath.

Or Kate Winslet.

So, yeah. I’m not a Muppet, and therefore we are not moving to a place without a shower.

To Be Continued.

This season it’s Gail’s boobs versus Padma’s boobs.

And, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe Padma referred to Gail as luscious. Add a little Eric Ripert, 6-inch heels on P, suede Adidas kicks on Tom, and I’m thinking this is a sexy season.

At least at the judges table.

I can do without 17-inch dreadlocks, chicken liver, and limp cucumber.

It’s the first episode, and therefore we get introduced to this season’s chefs. Within minutes we meet our antagonist, Angelo, when he proclaims that there will be blood on the stage for anyone who goes against him. He’s worked with Le Someone, been to Le Somewhere, and asks fellow chef, Tim, if he has gone to Le Louis XV in France.

We can’t really see Tim’s face during the convo, only the slithering smirk of Angelo – arms crossed, hair gooed straight up and sideways (both at the same time), Members Only jacket looking thing, and perfectly orchestrated (we’ll get to that later) 3-day shadow. Luckily, Tim tells us what his eyes were probably saying during the rooftop tete-a-tete: “This is some BULLLLLL shit”.

Love it.

Finally, Padma and Tom come onto the roof and interrupt the formalities. For some reason Padma is wearing 6 (maybe even 7) inch  heels. I do not know if this is supposed to distract us from the fact that she’s now a mommy, her scar, or something else, but it worked for me. It also alerted me to the fact that Tom is wearing black suede Adidas shoes. Hot. I’m distracted from his baldness. And lack of height.

The first quickfire follows the Top Chef format, with a slight twist. The chefs will need to showcase basic skills – peel potatoes, brunoise onions, break down chicken. In order to advance you need to be quick. However, the 4 fastest will actually have to cook something with those ingridients to win the 20K prize. This is a good addition to this challenge, because peeling quickly does not necessarily equal the best chef.

Unfortunately, this works in Angelo’s favor as he is the second fastest in the skill part of the challenge, but in the cooking portion, he is tops, and wins the money over Kenny. There’s a hint of squirrel side eye from Kenny as Angelo wins, but luckily he will tell us exactly what he was thinking when he conducts his one on one interview: “What the fuck?”

Unluckily, Angelo and his sideways hat backward also gets to do interviews. “I actually want to be the first contestant to win every single challenge.”

Now we move onto the elimination challenge, and in this rare instance it’s actually a good thing to be picked last. The chefs are divided into four groups and they are competing against each other within those groups. There are 4 chefs per group, and one person will be in the top 4 and one person will be in the bottom 4 with the possibility of going home. So, the top 4 from the quickfire get to start picking from the remaining chefs, and seeing as they’ll be competing amongst the people in their group, they’re obviously trying to pick the weak people.

(I’m pretty sure that paragraph does not make sense, but fuck it. It is not important whatsoever, and there are too many 4s.)

Tracey Bloom is picked second and all I am thinking is that she reminds me a lot of Jesse Sandlin from Season 6. Which does not bode well for her.

Notables from the elimination challenge:

Jacqueline. It was obvious where things were going with her when she said, “It’s a little bit risky, but also a safe bet.” No, sweetie. It’s one or the other. And,  if you’re making chicken liver mousse without butter for a French chef, you are fucked. Case closed.

Angelo. He continued to drop sweet gems: “I’m like an orchestra with flavors. I can tell you when it’s gonna hit your mouth (that’s what he said), why it’s gonna hit your mouth (that’s what he said, too!)”.

John Somerville. I just can’t.

Jesse Tracey: “Steven’s a little hick”…smoker laugh, smoker laugh. Ugh.

Stephen: O-HI-O. All I know about Steven is that he told us that leaving his baby twins was the hardest thing about the process, but he was sure excited about getting wastey in the stew room. “I’m gonna throw my fruity snacks on a hard 6. SHOOTAH, SHOOTAH!” Thatta kid. I’d be chilling with him while those ones who were all like, “I take this seriously” frowned in agony for 18 hours on a folding chair.

Amanda: What in the Sam hell was on that plate? It looked like a limp cucumber dick on a pile of … OK, I’m stopping there. It wasn’t pretty.

When the judges came in, it was back to the battle of Padma v. Gail, now in the form of colorful v-neck dresses. Of course, there was a hint of Eric R. splashed in the middle. The judges ate without having to spit anything out, so that was nice.

And, after one episode, Beethoven set the presidents (no, he really said presidents) and is 2-0.

As in tennis, people!

Geez. You think this is a blog for young people who laugh at words like balls and fart?  Well, it’s not. This is a blog for old people. Like me.

Last week I celebrated another birthday, and inched my way slightly closer to 40. No big thing, really. I even bragged on my Facebook page that I stayed up until 1 a.m. on Friday night celebrating. Then I celebrated all day on Saturday. I was totally patting myself on the back all day Sunday. Feeling like a cool kid after staying up past 9 p.m. TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW!

Apparently, I was feeling so good on Sunday, that Laef and I decided to go play tennis. By play tennis, I mean hit two balls over the giant 50-foot fence within 5 minutes and try as hard as we could to have a rally that reached 5.

This ain’t table tennis, yo.

After a while it became clear that this was the first time Laef had ever played tennis. So, I pretty much dominated him with my sick back hand and my wicked serve (I’m testing him here to see what it will take for him to comment on the blog). He tried to make me run back and forth all over the court, but I just kept yelling, “Marathon, Bitch! I can run all day!”

Nothing will make you feel more youthful than dominating your 20-something husband on the court.

However, everything starting going downhill midway through our tennis “match”. Honestly, we were the youngest people at the courts by at least 70 years. And while we were struggling to rally, these freaking pension-livers were playing like they just swam with alien Cocoon’s. Seriously. It was embarrassing. I mean, the courts are HUGE, the fences around the courts are HUGE, and yet we somehow managed to hit balls onto their court in the middle of their super-intense match time and time again.

So, we are now signed up for tennis lessons, and I shit you not, the age group on the web site says: 18-100. And, I bet there will be some 100-year old there to remind me that, I am in fact, playing a sport that old people can play (and play well).

Later that night, Laef and I went to the movies to see Iron Man 2. Nothing makes me want to stab myself more than sitting in movies with teenagers. I’m thinking that makes me old.

I won’t even tell you how old I felt when I watched the MTV Movie Awards. My favorite part of the night was Sandra Bullock, and she’s well into her 40s. Kristen Stewart is the most awkward person ever, and I have absolutely no idea why anyone would want to put their mouth on Robert Pattinson or Taylor Lautner. But right there in front of my eyes was Tom Cruise and J-Lo doing what they had to do to stay relevant: booty shake it for the kids who weren’t even alive when Top Gun came out. They know that the Twilight generation is running things now, and they wanted to impress them. I sure do miss Jenny from the Block, though.

ANYWAY, I went to bed Sunday still trying to think that I was young and cool.

And then Monday morning BITCH-slapped me.

I am definitely not able to bounce back after so many weekend drinks activities.