Can't... Take... Another... Bite...

A dark chocolate square...smear of barbecue sauce on a piece of chicken...paper cup of coffee...pretzel dipped in mustard...energy drink...black licorice (and raspberry, green apple, and strawberry. They were SOOOO good)...Gouda on a toothpick...gluten-free cheesecake...cookies and cream popcorn...salsa atop a corn chip...curry noodles...veggie chips...chocolate-dipped shortbread...maple-smoked bacon.

It's about 30 minutes into my first day at the Fancy Food Show at the Javitz Center and I cannot believe not only how much I've eaten already, but how much more I'm responsible for testing. As far as my first day goes, one side of one row down and 21 more to go. Uggggghhhhh. Even though it's only a bite at a time, I can feel the stomachache already.


Eating and drinking anything and everything you want for seven consecutive hours - for three consecutive days - sounds so much better than it actually is. Oh well. At least I can take a break to shake Rick Bayless's hand... even though it leads to taking yet another bite, but it's cool that it's a chicken soft taco that he made himself. Awesome.

If I have to go, it will be kicking and screaming

It's dusk on a warm summer Saturday night with just a slight breeze.

Can anyone think of a reason for me to set down my martini, get up off my comfy cushioned lawn chair, and ride the elevator downstairs to my apartment when I have this view from my rooftop?

Anyone?

It's 11:35 p.m. Do you know where your husband is?

I've run out of TiVo to watch. I don't feel like putting together the second bookcase. It's too hot to hang pictures, and I don't have the energy to start a book right now. All I want to do is slightly cuddle (because it's too hot for full-on cuddling) with my husband on the couch and talk about my day and listen to his.


But the clock is slowly creeping toward midnight, and my husband has yet to come home from work.


"Enough is enough, honey," I said after speed-dialing his work number around 10:30 p.m. (His work number - not his cell number - is the primary number for him in my phone.) "The work will still be there tomorrow."

"I agree, but it'll be at least another hour," he said, sighing.

"That's not OK. I am NOT happy about this," I said more for his sake than mine. I absolutely need that "down time" at the end of a workday - esecially a crappy work day (HELLO HAPPY HOUR!) - but when you come home well after bedtime, it doesn't leave much room for chilling out and taking a breather before you've got to shut off that alarm clock and start another unbearingly long workday.


So I know yesterday was supposed to be for fathers (does being the father of a dog count?) but for the future father of my children, I just want to say thank you for all the sacrifices you make for this family. You're the most dedicated, hardworking person that I know and while it takes you away from me for much longer than I like many days, I know it's so you can continue to support our family and make sure we're well cared for.

I love you, hubby, but I miss you. Come home.

Are you trying to POISON me?

"Hey!" I said while spearing a suspicious item lying beneath a long noodle in my Asian stir-fry. "Is this a mushroom?"

"No," said my two fellow diners at the small food magazine where I work.

"You guys said that a little too quickly and too in unison," I said to the editorial director and our chef while taking a closer look at what most definitely was a beech mushroom.

"This is a mushroom!" I said obviously and accusingly while shooting a glare at our chef, who was trying not very hard to conceal a smile because he knows very well that I absolutely hate mushrooms.

"I figured you wouldn't notice because they look so much like the noodles," he said, laughing. "I was going to tell you after we were done, even though you had, like, three big ones on your plate that you somehow kept eating around."

"You know how much I hate...wait, you were watching me eat the whole time?" I asked him. "Not gonna lie - that's kinda creepy."

"No, I was watching your plate the whole time," he replied. "If I'm going to be creepy, let's be clear on how I'm doing it."

"And let me be clear that that's still kinda creepy, but since you went to so much trouble, I might as well try it," I said while popping the mushroom in my mouth, chewing, and waiting for that disgusting mushroom flavor... that never came.

"Hey!" I said. "This just tastes like rubber!"

"And that's a good thing?" the chef asked, laughing.

"Well, it's better than tasting all mushroom-y," I replied.

I'm sure I'll love it when I can fit inside

After a day's worth of sweat and heavy lifting, we're finally moved in to our new place... well, I think there's still room for us.

The good news: The entryway is clear.

The bad news: Nothing else is except the small path between the boxes littering the entire living room and bedroom.

But how am I supposed to unpack with all the boxes in the way? Ugh.