I almost didn't name this one

Ah, the life of the low-income girl. It's great. It really is. My boyfriend Larry is also in that category, which is great too. When we do "fancy" dates, we end up feeling really spoiled and then it just adds that much more of a romantic layer to our already cute relationship.

The last "fancy" date we went on was pretty impromptu. Sure, we dressed up all fancy, and stuff, but we really didn't have a plan. All I knew was that I really wanted a steak.

SO! Off to the local HUGE shopping mall, town center, thing, whatever it is that is down the street from my apartment we go, all dressed up like an adorable couple. I donned my favorite wig and a cute dress so that I would look more like a girl and less like a cross dresser with amazing padding. He wore an outfit appropriate  to going out to a ritzy place. We were styling.

Easton, for those of you who've never been there, is a ritzy looking shopping center mall thing with a nice theater. It's got all the stores you'd find in a normal mall, plus a few other things, like a free standing Victoria Secrets. It's also got some really yummy restaurants, as well as a food court for those of us who aren't so financially gifted. It's really nice.
We're walking through, checking out all of our choices, and none of them were really looking that great. Some were too fancy, some weren't fancy enough. Others were like "WTF?", we really couldn't decide. THEN just as we were settling for the local Piada, we walked by this restaurant called "The Melting Pot". Oh my gosh, did it smell good. The air around it was heavy with the smell of red wine and onion and garlic.
I turned to Larry and asked if he's ever had fondue before. When he said he hadn't, I grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

This place is in a basement, so I had to fall down a couple of flights since I fail when it comes to wearing heels. We get up to the front desk, and the host informs us that there is an hour wait. Larry said he was okay with it, so we reserved our table and went back upstairs to find something else to do while we wait.

Skipping the part where I tell you that if him and I ever get married, you bet our house/apartment will be full of books and furniture. That's just how we roll.

After an hour of perusing an upscale version of Ikea and another ritzy furniture store, we go back to the restaurant. Two minutes later, we're sitting at our table and looking at the menus.

Yea, pretty much. I think our server had to explain it several times before we finally just gave up and ordered what turns out to be one of the most expensive things on the menu.

So then, we got our appetizer, which was a standard cheddar fondue. Except it had beer in it. Oh my gosh, was it good.

I am proud to report that this reaction is a normal one with everyone that eats there for the first time. I seriously had to excuse myself to the bathroom to powder my nose because I was tearing up so bad.

The rest of the meal was a little bit less emotionally moving. I'm not saying it wasn't good, but after the first wave of awesome, you're prepared for the rest of it.
I had to have some of that red wine onion concoction, and we both agreed the Yin Yang chocolate/white chocolate was what we wanted. They even gave us more fruit, since the rest of the confections served to dip into the chocolate was too sugary. I think that should be an option at all fancy restaurants. Like how the French do with their "official" desserts. A plate of fresh fruit, and possibly some cheese. A light one.

In the end, we ate so much, we were both stuffed. I had a couple of drinks too, so Larry had to drive the two miles back to my place. Oh, but it was so worth it. I hope to go there again one day.

Art School, or lack there of..

I've always wanted to be an artist. I think this roots in the fact that my mother is an artist, and I was one of those kids that always wanted to do what one of my parents did. Somehow I ended up doing what my dad did when he graduated highschool, but that's another rant for another time.
Another part of it has to do with being hit with the creative branch. Not just a light tap either. I was beaten into submission with it. I write, draw, play a couple instruments, and dabble in a lot of things creatively. Dabble. Not productively take part in, but piddle around in different puddles of creative stuff.

One of my main things though is slice of life comic strips. I've been writing and drawing them since middle school, mostly out of boredom during studyhall. These weren't your everyday notebook doodles. I wrote full on strips. Every day. For every situation. Perhaps one day, I'll sit down and "re-master" them and get them published. Eh.

My family has been fairly supportive of this endeavor fortunately. However, there's a nice catch with having an artist as a parent. Specially if you belong to a family where one has a bit more dominance than the other. In my case, my dad had other ideas of what he thought I should be doing with all of my creativity. Where I wanted to go to art classes, he thought I ought to be in marching band. It got kind of interesting when it came down to scheduling my classes.
It would almost be like that scene in Harry Potter when Uncle Vernon digs into Hagrid about going to Hogwarts. My dad would get all obstenent saying "She will not be going!" His face would be red, and he'd suddenly have a british accent.

Ok, not really, but somehow he got it into his head that my mother who has about as much of an attention span as I do, would find the time to sit down and teach me how to paint. That what little instruction she was able to give me between working at Wal*Mart, and doing other motherly type dutes, would be sufficient enough to make me as awesome as her. So that was his main reason for insisting that I go down the path of music instead of picture making.

This isn't to say that I despise my years of playing trumpet and french horn, but I really wanted to have that concentrated teaching put into my art.

So I have been pretty much left to learn on my own. I mean, I suppose I could take some classes at a workshop, but like art school, that costs money. Money that I do not have.