I had a wonderful time last night. I met New Best Friend and a colleague at my favorite bar. We ate bad food and heard a great band and told stories and laughed and had fun. New Best Friend told me he loves me. Of course it's not a romantic relationship, and it happened during a conversation about shoe propriety, but it was not flippant and it means a lot to me. I responded with goofy smile. I could do a lot worse. I may start a collection of "I love you"s from men.
I made chili. It's late in the season, but there were thunderstorms predicted and it sounded good. I made it with sirloin chunks and kidney beans and Guiness and Dutch process cocoa. Cinnamon, cumin, paprika, ginger. Fire roasted tomatoes. It's really tasty. Also made some Yankee cornbread. It's more than I've cooked in weeks and my entire house and being are steeped and infused with the rick and tangy scent. I should shower.
Made an offer on a sweet little bungalow in downtown this morning. All signs point to my bid being rejected outright (30% under the asking price, which is more than fair, considering the necessary repairs), but I'm dumbly hopeful. Maybe my contract will find the owner in just the right mood of giving up.
I bought a lot of booze at the liquor store today: giant sizes of my favorite upscale bourbon, and vodka. Since it's after Easter, I also got a huge bottle of top shelf gin. However, I'm currently enjoying my second Scarlett O'Hara of the evening--a cocktail I've just discovered and made of Southern Comfort with cran juice and lime. It's definitely what a talented tenor I know would call a "bitch drink." It's very girly.
Lordy, but my kidneys hurt.