I'd like to drink a frosty beer, perhaps outside, an umbrella shielding us from the rain, with a few good friends, who share my thoughts that this would be a better way to spend the afternoon, than attempting to determine some other, less productive and certainly less fun course of action. Let's just say that to do that was fine. What a happier work force we would all enjoy.
I am perfectly aware that what I should be doing on any given slow day is searching the bridal websites full force to find that perfect dress for myself and bridesmaids, looking at cakes and forming lengthy invitee lists. Right? That's what I should be doing. If not, I should be calmly reading a novel, knitting the neverending scarf, but I just can't get enough of the Food Network. I've become slightly obsessed with Rachael Ray, who, in the beginning, I did not care for. She grew on me, with her 30 minute meals and thrifty spending style in all corners of the globe and now I, honestly, nearly emit a startled breath when I turn on the television (Food Network, what else?) and there...she...is. She's peppy, damnit, and I love her. In fact, I just also discovered, thanks to that educational Food Network bio, that Rachael owns a pit bull. This discovery, of course, furthered my non-sexual crush on the woman. She, like many kind-hearted souls, has realized the injustice forced upon that great species of dog and invited one into her home. Oh, Rachael! When are you coming over for dinner? You're cooking. I'll relax with a nice glass of wine and admire your witty and upbeat commentary regarding the ease with which the salad dressing comes together, and the pride one finds in making a delicious and quick dinner, after a hard day of work.