PARABOLICAL GRAFFITI

I have a guilty pleasure. Once in a while I like to read romance novels. Those kinds where the covers are these muscular guys are posing with barely dressed women as highlanders, cowboys, or pirates? They're mindless and sometimes that's all right when you do a lot of researching because the brain needs to rest from time to time.

Then I realized that if the Powers That Be or the Senior Partners ever brought one of those guys here? He'd either be eaten within an hour or turn and run with his kilt flapping in the breeze. They make them out in the summaries on the back to be these big he-men but there is nothing in the book that ever gives evidence in support of that. In fact, I bet the so-called "damsels in distress" are better equipped to save their butts than they are to save the ladies.

I bet they take longer in front of the mirror longer than I do too.

Great day. Fall is almost here, the windows in the apartment are all open, and I'm getting ready to make what will hopefully be a successful, homemade meal for the man and me. Of course, now that I've gone and typed that, it's probable that the steaks will spontaneously combust ala Lindsey's infamous apple-cinnamon muffin attempt, and I'll be forced to reassess.

{Filtered to Lindsey}
Baby, we have no hot water.

Is there anyone out there with some free time, slight measure of culinary skill and genuine enjoyment of cooking? I could really use some part-time help at the L.A.W.C., and I'd hate to resort to adding 'take out' as a key food group for my residents, as well.

i still do not understand this.

i'm called eponine. E E Eponine. Cathy.

Cathy that one makes names look proper