Gotcha Meatballs

Already wrote about my lovely Friday night and would be amiss to not mention my lovely Monday night last week.

Dad came through on his way to a meeting. Note to self, the loveseats are comfy for naps, but all nighters must be kept to a minimum. Of course, in order to entice people to visit I'll bite the bullet and spend the night on the short couches anyway! Dad and I ate at chiapparelli's Restaurant in Little Italy. I ate Eggplant Parmigiana, which reminded me of portabella mushrooms. They absorbed the flavor of the sweet/spicy tomato sauce and were topped with roasted cheese. Dad ate Homemade Lasagna after struggling to choose an authentic italian meal that ALSO had meat. He refused to conceed to Spaghetti con Polpette (spaghetti with meatballs) out of avoidance for cliches. Nope, Lasagna has no cliches attached to it, right? The saucy waitress that was at least 15 years dad's senior kiddingly brought a meatball on the side of his dish. The waitress and I had a great talk about "kids these days" who give inferior waitress service and expect 20%. What am I, 40? It does seem like Cracker Barrel is 100 years away. Nothing like waiting on grumpy customers for 3 years of college with heavy trays and slick floors to remind you why you are going to school. Back to the point...

I introduced dad to Double Chocolate Stout (the only beer in the house right now) and he managed to choke that down with the Utz pretzels. Revenge for dad watching TV until midnight was granted when both my alarms went off at 6am the next morning (yes dad, it was fun). The girls at work were amazed he came in for one night, even when I explained I was just a hotel. Then again, I think I'm his favorite daughter so of COURSE he stopped by. I loved seeing him. And I didn't get him lost. :-)

I would also be amiss if I didn't mention the Valentine's day card I received. Don't get too excited, it wasn't from a boy. Or, at least, not from A boy. The choir at St Teresa's sent me a Valentine's day card detailing how much they missed me and wishing me luck in my journeys. I haven't found a choir here, and have given up the idea and have just decided to find a good church instead. It was a wonderful happy-sad feeling. I miss the comradship and crazy-zaniness of Wednesday night practices and my second family that I always sat with during mass. I miss having a reason to sing loud. I miss having a reason to practice my flute. I miss my good buddies. So Dminor, please extend my thanks to John George, Ellen, Kateri, Debbie, Rose, Patricia, Mary, Margaret, Bob, and of course my favorite bearded guitar player (he-hum, you). I miss y'all. Tell Patricia to play my "instrument" with heart to annoy John George and make him throw his hands up in the air. And tell Kateri to play loud-- flutes are made to shout with.