My neighbor began texting me this morning in distress. "You're doing different stuff every day. How about having my friends over for dinner?" Apparently not using your oven for any length of time causes the pilot light to extinguish. An apparently once it's out, it's hard to get back on. And apparently PG&E books up weeks in advance. So what do you do when you've planned a party at your house and you can't cook? Move the party.
I didn't exactly offer my house for the party, but I did offer my oven in a sort-of progressive party spirit - cocktails and cooking at my place, dining at yours. Fortunately for me, one of the boy geniuses was able to get the oven lite, so in the spirit of "you almost saved my ass", I was invited over for the pizza party.
I imbibed their wine and ate their chips and helped create one hell of a masterpiece pizza: sauted tomatoes, mozzarella, onions, chicken, mushrooms, artichoke hearts and garlic - yes, you can say it--"yum".
The company was very nice--but young.
Me, "Where do you work?"
She, "Perry's"
Me, "When I was bar-hopping, Perry's was a pick-up bar?"
She, "What's a pick-up bar?"
He, "I think it's like where you hook up."
Yes, for those born prior to Gen Y, hook-up is what you think it is, but if you need it spelled out, text me. If you don't text (text can in fact be a verb), well, that's why you don't know hook up.
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