We've been driving to the Staples Center for Clippers games for three seasons and Bill is constantly trying to figure out the quickest way. Each time he finds a better route, he spends the next three trips fine-tuning it and timing himself. I'm usually sitting in the passenger seat feeling nauseous from the quick turns, stop-and-go traffic, brake-slamming and swearing. But one day, Bill's quest for the fastest route paid off: we passed the motherload of donut shops, California Donuts. I've always loved donuts even though they're evil, but there aren't any good places out here -- we don't have a Krispy Kreme near us, there's just a Winchell's (generic) and a place called Yum Yum (which sounds like a place I'd find Bill reading porn in the curtained-off section). We desperately need a Dunkin' Donuts in L.A. but you knew this already.
The reason California Donuts caught my eye was because it had one of those really cool retro California signs. (I've always had good luck when a restaurant has a good sign, with one exception: Bob's Big Boy, which apparently serves prison food.) So one night I telepathically convinced Bill to think it was his idea and he stopped at California Donuts. When we got up to the window (yes, there's a window like at an ice cream shop) we were speechless. There was this huge deli case display of at least 30 different donuts that all looked like gourmet treats. I actually gasped out loud when I saw it. We opted for two apple fritters, a buttermilk and two glazed. They were so good that even the Olsens would have eaten them. I ripped through two and a half in about 10 minutes and then felt like I was pregnant for the next 36 hours. That was when I decided we could never go there again unless we were having a party and I wanted to serve them as dessert and pretend I made the fritters myself.
About three weeks later, Bill came home from a Clippers game with someone else and had six California Donuts with him. I was furious at him -- again, donuts are pure evil -- but that didn't stop me from shoving down a buttermilk in five bites like a hungry "Survivor" contestant who just won a food reward. Then Bill got mad that I was mad and said he'd throw the rest out, but we decided he should hide them instead so I couldn't find them. I couldn't bear the thought of those beautiful donuts sitting in the garbage. It just seemed wrong. The next day, I started thinking about the donuts and within a few minutes I was ripping apart the kitchen like a cop during a drug bust. I looked for them for a solid hour and a half in every part of the house. When Bill came home, I was completely frantic and screamed, "WHERE ARE THE DONUTS!" at him and I think he thought I was going to attack him.
The point is, I can't handle myself around these donuts. Now we've settled on establishing a "donut night" once a month so we don't end up weighing a combined 400 bills. And the reason I'm telling you this is because Donut Night is coming up next Wednesday. In my opinion, this is much more exciting than the Patriots-Colts game.
Here are my Round 3 picks: New Orleans +2.5, New England +3
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