Pistachio Ice Cream: The Original

Completley forgot to upload this photo from my visit to Atlanta. Yes, Vi and I indulged in some pistachio ice cream. And it was delicious!

McNerdy Love

Fenella's plan for me and the cute neighbor may have worked better than she ever would have thought, but my plan to find Fen's mojo worked better than I ever could have dreamed.

Last night, my roommate and I threw another one of our fabulous parties. (I was a little apprehensive that I might be broken up with while in my underwear the next morning, as happened at our last party, but quite the opposite happened. More on that later.) This was a high-class party, complete with a designated make-out corner. Secluded, very dimly lit, and with a paper towel sign pointing the way.

As Fen blogged earlier, I had indeed given her permission to make out with McNerdy. And Grayer is right. There was definitely a time that I would not have able to even think about him making out with anyone else, but I've come a long way. McNerdy and I in a romantic sense seems a lifetime ago, and now I only want my two best friends to be happy. So, after McNerdy arrived, I casually mentioned that he had my permission to make out with Fen, which seemed to interest him, once he got over my use of the word "permission."

For the better part of the evening, they sat/stood very near each other, and I suspected even a bit of hand holding under the table. Then I realized I was missing my drink, so I went back out to the porch to grab it... only to find Fenella and McNerdy totally sucking face!!!!!!! Wooooo!

And it gets better! They continued being all touchy-feely the rest of the evening, and I caught them in lip-lock a few times after that (including in the make-out corner). To give them the privacy that they so deserved and needed, I sacrificed my bedroom and went home with the Cute Neighbor. It was a huge sacrifice, let me tell you. (Pistachio ice cream, what? WHAT?) And when I finally did the walk-of-shame home in last night's party dress at 11:30 this morning, McNerdy was STILL HERE. I think McNerdy was a bit uncomfortable when he walked in the kitchen to see me, but I was super-excited. Now Fen and McNerdy can get married, and Fen can move here and we can be together all the time!

Now Fen has her mojo back. And she and I have yet another thing in common ;)

Pistachio Ice Cream... a crime?

I was recently flipping through an issue of The Economist (which is something I do all the time, I swear) when I came across an article about America's unjust sex laws. Naturally, I was intrigued and started to read. Especially because most of the article was about sex laws in my state. It was about a woman who is forced to register as a sex offender because of oral sex she performed in high school. Turns out, in this state, oral sex was included in the state's sodomy laws. That included oral sex between consensual married couples. So in other words, pistachio ice cream of any variety was outlawed until 1998 (!), when it was finally repealed. Can you imagine? Pistachio ice cream illegal? This brings to mind a few questions:

1. How on earth did they police this law?
2. How many people broke the law? My guess is not as many people who wanted the law to be broken on them.
3. What kind of person came up with this law?

I don't think that's what most people have in mind when they think of being handcuffed while engaging in such an act...

I shaved my legs for THIS

Oh, action. Why did you ever leave me?

Last night, the Dark Horse said he would stop by to drop off a book that he had borrowed from me. Now, this was the first time I had heard from him since the "I shaved my legs for this" incident, which it will heretofore be known, and I had absolutely. no. idea. what to expect from this encounter. My expectations seriously ran the gamut from "Here's your book, thanks for letting me borrow it" to waking up next to each other sans clothing. I figured it would be somewhere in the middle. Instead, I got an extreme.

When he arrived, I honestly didn't think we would be waking up next to each other. Things weren't awkward, because I can't imagine them ever being awkward between us, but they were... polite? We set off to grab a slice of pizza around the corner. I should probably explain that I live right off a rather, shall we say, colorful? street. There are all sorts of interesting characters and plenty of homeless people always looking for money "for gas." I generally ignore them, but the Dark Horse is nothing if not friendly, and he likes to listen to their stories and engage in conversation. Which is exactly what he did with a flamingly gay man who approached us to ask for money, swearing that he wasn't a bum, and believing the Dark Horse when DH told him he was a doctor. The non-bum hadn't really noticed me, but when he did, he asked "is this your wife?" Then he looked me up and down, and even peered around me to check out my ass, and said in a way that only the truly flaming can pull off, "Girl, you have got it going ON! You are bootylicious!" Then somehow the conversation went from his living with AIDS for 15 years to my bootyliciousness.

Eventually, we shook the guy, but on our way from the pizza place to the bar, passed him again, where he yelled "BOOTYLICIOUS!" after me. Oh, city life. I wouldn't trade you for anything.

When we got to the bar, we ran into my (more than a little drunk) roommate and BFF and joined them. It was after they left that I knew I wouldn't be sleeping alone. I think it was when DH told me that I was indeed bootylicious and asked if I had shaved my legs that I knew. (I told him that I was going to keep that information to myself this time.) We went back to my place. He had said he was crashing on my couch (he was in no state to be driving), but who was he kidding? Technically, he made the first move, but I guess you could argue that I made the first move several weeks ago with my drunken speech, which he obviously took to heart and remembered, because he definitely came prepared, and several helpings of pistachio ice cream with cherries on top later, we were two happy campers.

But it was afterward that I impressed myself with my ice queeniness. First of all, I did not initiate any cuddling. Second, in the morning, when he asked what that was (seriously, does he need a definition?) my official stance on the situation was "It happens." I told him if it happens again, great, if not, ok. And that's how I actually feel about it, too. I mean, obviously I want it to happen again, and I definitely think it will, but there are other fish in the sea. Third, he sent the obligatory "I had fun last night" text message. And I haven't even responded yet. Fenella says this is ice queen nirvana. Now what do I strive for?

Pistachio ice cream isn't for everyone...

While out to lunch with an old friend we were chatting away when the conversation moved to funny quotes. "Ah ha." Thinks me. What a great opportunity to bring up my (soon to be) infamous quote: "What do you do with your arms?"

I think I should mention though that my friend is, well, a little innocent and has very little experience with guys. But I figured she would least know about, well, stuff. Um...no. I started to explain about pistachio ice cream, obviously being far more blunt with my wording. Yes ladies, I used the exact words: oral sex. My friend looked confused (and I hadn't even got to the 'what do you do with your arms bit.')

Here's the thing. My friend didn't know what oral sex is. She thought, wait for it...oral sex is "sex, with talking afterwards."

Cue a very awkward moment.

When I managed to explain it, her reaction? Priceless.

What do you do with your arms?

A few weeks ago Vi and I were having one of our monthly / twice weekly / whenever we suggest it, 2 hour skype conversations. During these conversations we cover a wide range of topics but, inevitably, the conversation turns to the opposite sex. And sex. And most recently, the pros and cons of pistachio ice cream.

We have come to the conclusion that it all depends on the brand of ice cream, or the ice cream vendor. But I'm digressing a little. During the conversation I suddenly ask, in my innocent way, "But during the um, pistachio ice cream, what do you do with your arms?" After laughing it out, we realised that although a strange question, it is actually a very valid question.

Think about it, what do you do with your arms? This is now a standard joke with me and Vi but it did get us thinking. What other questions are there that women should ask but have never thought to? Or have thought to but have been apprehensive about asking and don't have a close knit blog group to ask them to? Or have never thought to ask because the question is just that strange?

So here is the start of what I hope will be a continuing blog post, which will then be published into a book and then into a hit film, much like He's Just Not That Into You (A girl can dream.) Presenting...

What do you do with your arms? (And other questions women really should ask.)

Q. What do you do with your arms?
A. If the pistachio ice cream is really that good then the thought shouldn't cross your mind. If it's really that bad then use your arms to hold the book you'll be reading.

Q. Brazilians? Yay or nay? (Not the nationality obviously)
A. Let's hope nay because I really don't want to get one.

Q. Lights on or off?
A. Off. Always, always off.

We need more questions. It's just not enough for the book.

The Joy of Pistachio Ice Cream

For years, I didn't understand the point of "pistachio ice cream." It never really did anything for me. I mean, why have pistachio ice cream when chocolate is available?

Then last weekend, with the Dark Horse, I discovered what I had been missing. Turns out, really good pistachio ice cream can in fact be really good. Turns out that there is a difference between store brand pistachio ice cream and Haagen Daas pistachio ice cream.

I couldn't quite finish my ice cream, but I tried to buy the Dark Horse some ice cream for himself. He stopped me and told me I couldn't buy him any until I had finished all of mine. I was pretty stunned. I've never in my life met a man who insisted a girl finish her ice cream before he had any. Is this a new breed? Or have I stumbled onto one in a million? And does this put pressure on me to finish my ice cream?