The ABCs of Me

A is for - Adele. I am having such a girl crush moment with her right now. I've had "21" since the week it came out, and I've played it to death. "19" was remarkably accomplished, but this one knocks my knee socks off. Check out her live performances on youtube. She is a life raft in a skanky sea of booty shakers and ridiculous S&M videos. I don't just want a song to get stuck in my head; I want it to get stuck in my soul.

B is for - banana. I love them. Have one every day. Yet have an irrational fear of overripe bananas and banana strings that just isn't normal. My colleagues are very supportive, and often encourage aversion therapy by leaving overripe banana peels on my computer mouse. Fuckers. You know who you are.

C is for - coffee. Love the stuff. Don't need a ton of it every day, but any sort of frappamachaspressolatte brings me joy. The staff at the Starbucks by work suggested I get a part-time gig so I could get free coffee. I'm considering asking for an application.

D is for - dessert. As my ass can attest, I love it. Ideally, apples wrapped in some sort of pastry. Or maybe a lemon tart. My grandmother made the best apple pies ever, so I am constantly searching, comparing, and usually coming up just a little underwhelmed. It's like looking for the Holy Grail. A cinnamony, buttery Holy Grail.  The exception - if raspberry kuchen is on a menu (hello, Fireside!), I'm faced with a not-so-very-terrible decision.

E is for - effervescent. I love this word. I think it's one of those words that sounds like what it means. It sounds like it is made of bubbles. There are three "e" words that I would love to be described as: elegant, erudite, and effervescent. On my very best of days, the best I can hope for is 2 out of 3.

F is for - falafel. Actually, it's for L'as du Fallafel, on the rue des Rosiers in the heart of Paris' Marais district. I'd had falafel lots of times in Halifax, but many years ago, when I went to Paris for the first time, I stayed in the Marais, and I made sure to visit this place (I'd read that Lenny Kravitz was a regular). It's vibrant and a little crazy and the ordering system is sort of whack. It's awesome. About a decade after I went for the first time, the New York Times travel section dubbed it the falafel destination in Europe. I realize how pretentious that last sentence sounds, and I don't care.

G is for - gummy candy. I'm like a 4 year old. I will eat it until I'm sick, vow to never eat it again, and then find myself at the bulk barn, up to my ass in high-fructose corn syrup, debating butterflies vs. worms vs. sour soothers.

H is for - hamburgers. I love love love them. And I almost never have them. This is criminal. I'm not one of those people who barbeque all year round, so the first outdoor hamburger of the season always brings me joy. Right now, there are spiders in my barbeque. I may have to throw it out.

I is for - Italy. I love it. I've been three times, and could happily go every year. Rome is infuriating and invigorating and insane and just the most fantastic city. I shall go back soon; the Trevi fountain owes me some change. Next time you see me, ask me about the club where the d.j. wore a leather butcher apron, knee socks and black satin bikin panties. And this was a guy.

J is for- I have no sweet clue. I have been wracking my brain trying to come up with a "J" word that is a part of my life. I keep thinking of words that have no real place in my day to day - "jail", "jambalaya", "jello".  Nothing. Moving on...

K is for - Kit Kat bars. If someone were to make me choose only one type of chocolate bar to eat for the rest of my life (which is a conversation I've actually had more than a few times), this would be it. I don't like the Chunky version (the wafer/ filling/ chocolate ratio is all wrong)  and the dark chocolate ones are okay, but I'm sort of a purist. FYI - I distrust anyone who would answer the Ultimate Chocolate Bar question with "Big Turk". Weirdos.

L is for - limoncello. Prior to having it, I became a bit obsessed with trying it. I like lemon. I like alcohol. I was on the Amalfi Coast, the birthplace of limoncello. It's fucking awful. I imagine it's like drinking Pledge, only with a slightly less pleasant aftertaste. Don't get me wrong - every time I was offered some, I took it. I'm not stupid; it was free booze. But I hadn't been that disappointed since...well....booze was involved then, too.

M is for - making out. Don't get to do it these days, and I miss it. A lot. It's not doctor's orders or anything; I'm just single. Even when you're dating someone, at my age good old-fashioned making out seems to fall off the radar a little bit. I've lamented this more than once. It seems like you go from zero to "Ow! Ow! Leg cramp!" way too quickly. I like the in-between bit. And I don't even mean that in a dirty way.

This is much harder than I thought, and I'm only half-way. I'm saving N-Z for another day. I can tell you this: X is going to be a bitch. I did once Xerox my face, but who hasn't?