Elevens & Twelves

Yesterday I listened to The Twelves and remembered dating a guy in university who lived in a household of roommates self-named, "the Elevens". Essentially, they were convinced that if rated on a scale of ten, they would all be elevens. I have no idea how a relentless feminist like myself could've tolerated such a douche bag. He must've been smoking hot. I met up with a friend I hadn't seen in 10yrs and he reminded me of all the wrong people I've attempted to date. Nobody was evil, but nobody was right either.

God I'm happy that's over.

I've been accused of being a buffoon all my life, but my strict regime of constant humiliation has led me to lessons learned and the man I love. Dumbassery pays off. I may not be elegant, but as far as luck is concerned, I'm definitely an eleven. Oh look, it's Saturday. Hell yeah.

Comte

I am the only person I know who is willing to sacrifice a long weekend for cheese. I'm building a website for a very small fee for Essex Street Cheese Co. out of NYC simply to get some of their Comte. There are only 60,000 wheels of Comte aging in the caves at Marcel Petite Fort St. Antoine - a cave fort built during the 1800's in the Jura Mountains near the French-Swiss border. Essex's wheels are hand selected and are aged between 13-18 weeks. The Comte is made from the milk of Montbeliard cows and it's been prepared in the same manner for over 1000 years. This is the holy grail of cheeses. It's described as having the texture of silk. I'm going to have a party when I get my piece. I'm obsessed.