Happy Halloween

Kissing pumpkins
Originally uploaded by typingelbow.

Yay for pumpkin carving! Double yay for not cutting your finger off while pumpkin carving!

There are lots of new pictures up at my flickr page. Head over there to see pictures of John and I on our engagement night. I am floating about two feet off the ground.

Veritas ... truth

John asked me to marry him tonight, and I sobbed loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to turn and gawk. I said yes.

I am getting married to the chef, a wonderful man, next summer. Please wish us luck and many more lovely dinners by candlelight.

This sentence just kept getting worse:

(As heard last night at Brandi's CD-release party)

"Did you hear about the guy who was caught being sexually inappropriate with a dead dog in front of kindergarteners?"

"No."

Today's WTF:

Scott Adams, the creator of the Dilbert comic strip, has apparently cured a rare neurological disease in himself. Whoa.

Bite leash? Heal bites?

Did you know that "A rebel bet, Hi slut" is an anagram for Elisabeth Butler?

Or that "Blew pig Tony" and "Web typing, lo" are anagrams for Typingelbow?

I discovered these today by visiting this anagram site.

Thanks to 123 for the heads up.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

I've had four cigarettes in the last two months. I had one while watching the sunset in Italy, two with Julie and one at the infused-vodka bar with Megann.

I'm pretty proud of myself for getting out of my daily habit, but I didn't come this far alone. I've been on the nicotine patch. I plunked down $250 for all three stages of the patch, and I've slowly worked my way through the system.

I started with the 21 mg patch, hereby known as the My-arm-is-going-to-fall-off stage. It lasted a full month, and every patch made my skin itch and my muscles hurt. I couldn't carry my purse on the patch arm because it would start throbbing. But 21 mg cured my need for a cigarette. Plus, I had vivid dreams every night.

Then I moved on to the 14 mg patch, which was a lot easier on my body. During that two-week stint, I still had movie-like dreams, but my muscles were rarely sore. I never felt nauceous on 14 mg.

Now I am about to finish the 7 mg patch. It's so small that I forget I'm wearing it. I've only got two days left on the system before I'm supposed to become a non-smoker on my own.

I'm really nervous about the end. I cheated on the patch four times, even though my physical addiction was all but over. I'm afraid I'll immediately want to light up and puff. With the patch, I'm not nervous about hanging out with my smoker friends, but what if I break down when the first excuse comes along. (I'm wearing red today. Must be time for a smoke!)

Does anyone have any advice? (Other than "Quit crying, you big baby!")

In the meantime, I'm going to savor my last two patches.

The heat is on... it's on the streeets!

my spider pumpkin
Originally uploaded by typingelbow.

The floor was freezing when I got out of bed this morning, and I actually had to turn the heat on in my apartment.
Guess the beach season is over.

I'm craving chili and cornbread. And maybe a little pumpkin carving.

I need a camera phone

The chef and I decided to turn off the football game last Sunday in favor of sunshine and live people. We wandered down 14th Street to the Chelsea Market and shopped for fun foodie stuff. (I bought some strawberry/black pepper mints that rock.)

We also took a little food tour. We stopped at Spice Market for an amazing ginger margarita, some delicious crispy egg rolls in a green frothy dipping sauce and an "okay" order of tuna with daikon and coconut milk.

Then we twiddled our thumbs (and peeked in Batali's new restaurant, Del Posto) until Morimoto opened at 5. We sat in the downstairs lounge, which was decorated to feel like the inside of an expensive vase. We drank a Red Dragon cocktail and a sake martini. The food was awesome. We shared three oysters that were topped with foie gras, sea urchin and teriyaki sauce. Then we dug in for Duck Duck Duck, an entree that featured duck prepared three ways and three sauces for dipping. The miso sauce was my favorite.

There was another feature of Morimoto that convinced me to go back: the bathroom. The stalls were very private, with walls and a door that ran from floor to ceiling, and a lighted mirror box along the back wall cast a beautiful glow in the stall. (I never thought I would say something like that about a crapper.) But it was beautiful, and by the end of my brief visit to the bathroom, I had developed some romantic feelings toward the can. See, the toilet was equipped with a pre-warmed seat and a row of instructional buttons that you can direct to spray warm water in the front or back (oscillate or pulse were also options for the wash), plus a warm-air dryer to pamper your tushe.

I could hear other occupants giggling and sighing in their own stalls. So when I emerged with tousled hair, I said to them, "Man, I feel like I should give that toilet my number." When I got back to my seat at the bar, John asked me why everyone was laughing in the women's bathroom. I suggested he grab a newspaper and go find out for himself.