Confessions of A Naughty Girl

Desperately Wanting

I named this post after one of my favorite Better Than Ezra songs, because let's face it - Better Than Ezra is underrated, and it seems like an appropriate title for the bullshit that is about to follow.

I must really like this guy, because I cooked tonight. I COOKED. Food. Edible food. A meal of food, as Frank the Tank might say. I made a bet with a co-worker, and I lost. The terms were that I would have to pack him a lunch tomorrow. And let me assure you, the lunch has been packed. Packed with desperation, and feeble attempts at impression that few guys have ever been on the receiving end of. Why is it that if we like someone - really and truly like the person - that we find ourselves doing things that we wouldn't normally do in the hopes of conveying traits that we're not sure we really have?

Yes, I'll admit, I like to cook. But in the 7 years that I have been out of the house, I have managed to master very few dishes, if any. I'm not sure if ramen and Easy Mac count, but if they do, then maybe I'm not as bad a cook as I thought. But my cooking ability is really limited to turkey chili, pasta with marinara, cereal, stuffed mushrooms, and toast. Years of working at the Food Network, and I have mastered toast. Not good.

Usually, I don't cook because I don't have the time or the patience to experiment with shit. I have worked until 7:30 every night this week, and when I don't head straight to the gym after that, or catch the latest season finale (Did anyone else see the The O.C.? Was it not amazing tonight?), I am...well, sleeping. I don't have time to f*ck around with food.

But I always pay up on bets. And I really like this particular co-worker, and want him to think that I am a domestic goddess, because I sense that he's probably impressed with that kind of shit. I know, I know. I am a relatively attractive girl with a Master's degree, and the second a good guy walks into the picture, I bat my eyelashes and whip out the DustBuster. This goes against my independent woman grain, and Gloria Steinem would probably beat the shit out of me, but what can I say? I am an old-fashioned girl at heart.

So I hauled my overly ambitious ass to the grocery store tonight, and proceeded to buy every ingredient necessary for making pasta with pesto and a fresh tomato-mozzarella caprese salad with basil. How the f*ck I decided on this, I have no idea. I think he mentioned once that he liked pasta. With a little help from my elves, Amy and Hilla, who were kind enough to lend their kitchen, cooking skills, and dishes, I made little Ziploc containers full of pasta, and now I feel sick. Not from the food, but the fact that I went to such great lengths to impress a boy. And the worst part was that I didn't even buy some breath mints for after lunch. Maybe I'll stop and get a pack of gum from the restaurant downstairs at work before I go in tomorrow.

For added obnoxiousness, I bought him a little Matchbox car at the store as a "prize". I'm not sure who I'm kidding here, but I was just trying to put myself in his shoes. A girl who pays up on a bet, makes a quasi-gourmet lunch for you, brings it to work, and buys you a little matchbox car? Shit, if I weren't me, I'd fall in love with me.

Anyways, it just makes me wonder how far people go to impress those they like. It's kind of funny, in that sad sort of way.

Bon Appetit.

posted by KA @ 11:29 PM