What’s new?

I caught up with my ex — The Fiance — yesterday. And no, it’s not some big secret that we conversed. AB knows we’re friends.

“What’s new?” he asked, in request of status from our last conversation a couple of months ago.

Everything is JUST as fantastic as the last time we spoke – downtown living arrangements, permanent awesome boyfriend placement, upcoming Caribbean travel plans, same good-paying job in real estate, complacent-yet-straddling-the-line-of-Black-Sheep familial issues… I couldn’t even really share that I was doing Taebo because that workout routine is not new to him (I’m sure we shared similar nightmares of Billy Blanks).

I struggle to think spontaneously! He had a bomb (which I’ll keep off Internets for his privacy). But are questions as such just rhetorical or a true well-intended curiosity?

I can’t believe I actually had to think what was New With Me. Lameness.

1. I tried a new fish last night: yellowtail. This is only my second time eating sushi, of which the afterlife should be entirely comprised, you know, if I make it to one of the good parts (and you know, my digestive system allows me to enjoy some shellfish). AB had everything but the fish to make our own, but decided to stop into Sapporo {map} after a hectic work day. All four types were delicious! Of course, I have a lot left to learn about sushi, but I know the day after having some, I want more. MORE! And I am completely in love with anything spiced mayo. Of COURSE.

2. I tried a new cookie recipe this week. These apple-cranberry oatmeal cookies may very well might be my most favorite of cookie ever baked. EVER. For serious.

3. I’m listening to some new-to-me Bob Seger, courtesy of the greatest music pal ever, Addicted to Vinyl. Seger further reinforces that I need to have a piano in my next living arrangement. Even if it’s just an iPhone app. But not really. Back to Seger, “Days When the Rain Would Come” is holy fucking shit amazing to listen. Consider it on 1,063 loop rotations.

4. *sigh* I think I need another new hairdresser. When I called last week to make an appointment, she was out of the salon for a couple days for “personal reasons.” She still has yet to call me back for a potential haircut on Friday. Looks as though I will be rocking some bad-ass split ends (and extraordinarily long hair) for the holidays. I really, really liked my haircut last time. Dammit.

5. I might jump on board with adding a bunch of new recipes and cooking techniques to my resolutions list. AB cooks for us almost every night, which I love, but I love trying to cook/make new things (and subsequently fucking them up gloriously!). Be that as it may, spaghetti squash is on the menu tonight. AB is not joining us for dinner. OMG, I can fart at home!

6. Remember all that running I used to do? You know, the activity I gave up the second my witches’ tits started freezing over? Yeah… I’m considering giving the half-marathon another Ol’ College Try. See, I’ll be 33 in May, and that’s what still-hot-in-perfect-condition 33-year-olds do. Right? Or do they become strippers? I always confuse the two.

7. I did this super horrible spray tanning at home last weekend with a new product. At application, it was running fast down my arms and chest, and there was no doubt I was getting streaky with it. I wasn’t even complete with spraying my abs on before it stained my hand (yes, with a spray can, wtf?). And that can ran out before my fracking back was even. So, for 5 hours I resembled an aborigine, and when I showered — HOLY CRAP! It looked fantastic! Not much streaking (although a tiny bit uneven on my back — but not noticeable). Three days of awesome coverage before fading. Billy Blanks could not even paint these perfect abs. OK, he had probably a quarter of the credit. All that being said, I still like the fake tan courtesy of Neutrogena (airbrush) and Banana Boat (aerosol). If only I could afford Optima Sun Lab on a weekly basis.

Yeah, so these would all probably bore my ex-non-husband to laughing tears, like, OMG, you are lameness and what happened to befriending porn stars and when are you going to Amsterdam again and your cooking totally sucks.

Man, I had a bit more to talk about when I was buying hookers. It’s like endlessly talking about children to someone without spawn.

Perhaps the Caribbean sells those things. The hookers, not the spawn, of course.

So, Readers, what’s new? And what stories do you share with your exes — good, bad, ugly, same? Do you make up shit? I don’t talk to my exes, Crazy Woman!

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