Disaster Date
I paired the World Cup match with a lovely Arbor Mist Strawberry Zinfandel. I was only two or three glasses in when, sadly, Ghana scored early on overtime, leading (much) later to a Ghana win. All to the tune of those damn vuvuzelas, which make me thing at any moment a horde of bees are going to attack. But either way, sad.
Disaster date. My friend's BF loves Disaster Date, and while he exercised (lame-- and by that I mean I'm jealous of fitness), I started in one the Bennett Family Russian River, a light chardonnay. I would say more, but really I know nothing about wine other than I prefer white to red and it gets me feeling groovy way faster than beer. We have seen the same guy as the date, waiter and background actor in three in a row. This show is bad and has nothing on Next or, a long, long time ago, Singled Out. That hasn't stopped me from watching an episode per glass (4). Also, a guy was eating pasta during one of the dates, and I am looking quite forward to being driven to a certain downtown restaurant for pasta and delicious )hopefully alcohol absorbent) bread.
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