Friday, Nov. 17, 2006
Dear Diary:

It's no secret that I've had my doubts, that we've been drifting apart for years now. I didn't mean to be unfaithful, but The Other Man fulfills a deep fantasy of mine I didn't realize I had.

How do these things happen? Who can say. It's not so much that he's tall, rugged and very fit, although none of that hurts. I'll admit that I have a thing for the Aussie accent, but it wasn't that either.

Yep, the rumours that have been swirling around MarnCo, the ruthless multinational behind The Big Adventure, are true. The heart wants what it wants. I've decided to go for a clean break. It's better that way. So good-bye, Harrison Ford and hello Curtis Stone, my new Celebrity Lust Object.

How did it happen, how did one Celebrity Lust Object supplant another? Well, it began innocently enough, but then these things always do.

I am a terrible cook. I do my best, but my best ranges from semi-palatable to ohmigawd I double dog dare you to eat this. I obsessively watch cooking shows in the hopes that one day a celestial light will encompass me and I will find the tao of the kitchen. I am living proof that hope springs eternal.

Once a week I glumly push my cart around my local grocery store. As I fill it, I curse the fact that for the next week I will once again wrestle with trying to produce healthy meals that also taste good, knowing full well that most of the time I will not hit the mark.

And then one day when I was innocently cruising cooking shows, I found Take Home Chef.

The whole premise of Take Home Chef is that a woman, wandering around her local supermarket, meets my new Celebrity Lust Object with his camera crew in tow. A professional chef with several cookbooks under his belt, he offers to buy groceries, come to her home, and cook a gourmet meal for her and whoever happens to be living with her. He also teaches her how to make the meal as he's cooking.

Wait.

It gets better.

He cleans up afterwards.

Rrrrrrrowrrrrrrrrrrr.

Is it hot in here, or is it just me? Oooops, considering my august years and all, it's probably a hot flash, so it most likely is just me.

Nevermind.

Yep, every night at 5 p.m. I sit transfixed before the tee vee, watching a man do the shopping, pay for it, create a gourmet meal, teach someone how to replicate it and then clean up. I find myself thinking, "WHERE HAS THIS MAN BEEN ALL MY LIFE?"

I've always had my needs, but Curtis has awakened needs I did not know I had.

If Curtis was perfect, I wouldn't find him nearly as appealing. But the thing is, he's something of a goof. He's a teensy bit socially challenged. He screws up from time to time when he's cooking and then figures a work around. It's kind of endearing, really.

But alas, he is in Los Angeles, and I am in a small village in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. The odds of the Take Home Chef magically appearing in my supermarket and fulfilling those needs he's awakened, teaching me to cook The One Perfect Meal?

I probably have a better chance of being hit by lightning.

Oh, and for the record? It's not you, Harrison. It's me. I've changed, gone in a different direction. Once upon a time, it was about swashbuckling action heroes. Now, now it's about tiramisu.

But Harrison, I want you to know that I will always cherish the memories.

Always.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 702.93 miles. 10 per cent rubber duck10 per cent rubber duck10 per cent rubber duck10 per cent rubber duck10 per cent rubber duck
Oh, man, but I am having a hard time building back stamina. Ouch.


Goal for 2006: 1,250 miles - 2000 kilometers



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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.