Verdict and Victor... Or something.

Ryan's been tossed from Rockstar, and I think that's the only way they could go. Shocked Dilana wound up in the bottom three, but I've a soft spot for her. I still think Lukas will win it, even though I think Dilana has more range.

I'm tired, again.

Not enjoying the job. That takes a lot out of a girl. Maybe it's a phase. Maybe it's not. We'll see.

I bought the sexiest roma tomatoes ever for bruschetta, then forgot to buy the basil. GAH! Tomorrow, I cook something. They're PERFECTLY ripe. So sexy. So, so, so sexy.

I might fuck around with some funky pasta. Buy a little asparagus (emphasis on "little") and artichokes and such and see what kind of playful invention I can muster, and maybe I'll remember to keep notes so I don't forget how I've conjured my latest freeform masterpiece, but I suspect that's asking far too much of a bear of little brain. Fuck it, maybe I'll buy fontina and make me some ravioli with a light fresh tomato sauce. Something delish. Something deserved.

I might just have my first hook for selling ad space on my other blog. Read: This could well finally be a paying gig.

Halle-fucking-lujah, batman. About frigging time. And couldn't happen to a nicer gal, now, could it? We'll see what shakes down. I need to investigate. I wonder if some segment of my audience will perceive me as a sell-out? Well, when they start paying my fucking bills, they can judge me, yeah? Until that day, this ghetto-bootay has a price stamped all over its fucking acreage, man.

Yeah, baby. Get me while the gettin's good, right? Sure. Why not. If it means a little less working for da man, then I'm all sold on out. But at least it's my price and my asking and my concession. We'll see what goes down. I really don't know how to run with something like this. Carefully, I would suspect; just like with scissors.