Friday, August 29, 2008

Prom Hair Palin

I know she's the most scrutinized woman in America, but I can't help but add my two cents and say that OMG HOW IS IT POSSIBLE that a possible future President of the US has THIS hair-do??

I'm nothing, if not random.

1. Have you ever been driving along and all of a sudden you talk yourself into thinking that you have a flat tire? And then maybe you pull over and see that no, you're just a paranoid dumbass?

Well the one time I actually *was* driving on a flat tire it was REALLY obvious and I pulled over half a block from home. I was half pissed that the tire slasher of 2004 was at it again but also half glad to know that okay, when I have a flat tire, I'll totally know. That inconvenient morning has actually given me peace of mind ever since.

But that's not the point of #1 on my list. Here's the point:

I've always been paranoid about drinking spoiled milk. Not that I thought I ever had because UNLIKE MY MOTHER, I'm vigilant about expiration dates, but I was never quite sure how I'd know if my milk had gone bad. But now, I'm half disgusted and half pleased to report that thanks to that first bite of cereal I was going to have for dinner last night, you'll KNOW when the milk is bad.

MAAAAAAAAAAN, it was gross. According to the expiration date, my milk was supposed to be good until 9/2 but when I tried to remember how long ago I'd bought it, it seemed like a lonnnnng time ago. So maybe the expiration date was wrong? Or maybe I was just unlucky and got a bum jug? Either way, I can now rest easy knowing that if my milk goes bad, I'll know the second it reaches my tongue.

The crazy lady in me felt bad for the cereal that it didn't get to fulfill its purpose -- being eaten -- but luckily I had a fresh thing of milk in the fridge so I was able to help the dead cereal's brothers and sisters achieve their dreams.


2. My balcony faces a major street here in San Francisco and GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY it's dirty. So dirty, in fact, that it's useless to me because I don't want to tread soot all over my nice, clean carpet. Several months ago, my dad helped me rig a hose from my kitchen faucet, all the way across my dining area and living room and out the door so I can hose it all down. I've only done it a few times because A) I feel bad for pouring all my dirt onto my downstairs neighbor's patio (even if I DO shoot the water gun down there in an attempt to direct the dirt down her drain...besides...she has a water spigot and a hose so it's not the end of the world) and B) each time I've attempted this cleaning process I end up with a leak somewhere and the subsequent soggy carpet stresses me out.

This time I remembered the washer that I was supposed to put in the connection so that the living room wouldn't be the victim and I was happily hosing the crap out of my balcony, scrubbing it with a big brush and some Comet (probably going to eco-hell for that one) and feeling pleased with myself.

Until there was a lull in the traffic and I heard the hiss of spraying water.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh SHIT!

It was everywhere. If you've been to my apartment, you know it's long and narrow. Lake Kitchen started at the far wall (the orange one in the kitchen) and was primarily contained in the kitchen area, but there was a geyser that doused everything in the dining area and went as far as the back of the couch. I ran to turn off the water while also thanking the sweet baby Jesus that, for the first time in a couple of months, I had moved my computer to the ottoman for some couch based internetting and that it wasn't in its usual resting place, smack dab in the line of fire, on my dining table.

The carpet was only slightly damp and nothing important was hurt, but I think the lesson learned for next time is that this is a two person job: One person to scrub and spray and one person to babysit the sink.

So that was my morning, how was yours?

3. Speaking of water, one of my neighbors is having something plumbing or water related done so the water is off from 12-3. I can yellow is mellow with the best of them (at HOME, not AT WORK like that one place I interviewed:


but it's the lack of hand warshing that will torture me.

So I'm going to the movies. And I will eat popcorn. DELICIOUS popcorn that I've been hankering for all week long.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Picture Post with BONUS bridesmaid dress whining.

I'm one of those asshole iPhone users. I'm also one of those asshole iPhone users who is experiencing technical difficulties. I have an older iPhone though so my issues are different and special and I'm not holding my breath that they'll be fixed anytime soon so my previous feeble attempts at moblogging are nixed until I can stop the same picture from posting SEVENTY FIVE TIMES. Or, three times, but still...nobody wants to see pretty pictures of me getting my hairs did AT ALL, much less multiple times.

But there are still pictures I want to share with you, Internet! So you know what this means, right? It means we're going old-skool: Picture posts with unrelated pictures. Variety is the spice of life.

Off we go!

I had dinner with my east coast gbf and his bf last week. He was like "How come whenever I look at your Flickr pictures, there are always pictures of food?" I'm not really sure why I like taking pictures of stuff I make, but I think it's similar to the ol' "If a tree falls in the forest and there's nobody around to hear it, does it make a sound?" thing. Like, if I'm the only one who gets to see how delicious my dinner looks, is it still delicious? I don't know. Roll with me here.

So anyway, here's how pretty one of my dinners from last week looked:

It was coconut curry chicken and it was daaaaaamn good, but the sweet smell of the sauce stuck around for four or five days and no amount of candle lighting or window opening could get rid of it and OMG I WANTED TO DIE. So no more coconut curry chicken for me, but thanks for the recipe, Rachael Ray.

Soooo, if you happen to be following me on Twitter, you know that yesterday's bridesmaid dress fitting made me cry. The dress itself is perfectly fine, but it still depresses the hell out of me because of the arm situation. YES, I made my bed and now I have to lay in it, but I can't even begin to tell you how torturous this whole thing is for me.

And BLAH BLAH BLAH STFU to anyone who says "wear a wrap" or "I'm sure your arms aren't THAT bad" because I swear to God I don't want to hear it. #1, YOU'RE WRONG and #2, even if you were right (which you're not), it wouldn't matter because my pride is stronger than well-intentioned people trying to make me feel better about it.

So anyway. Back to the crying. I had to have my dress made so Sarah bought the fabric and the pattern and I took it to a local dressmaker and got measured and was told to come back six weeks later.

I was supposed to go back last week but the DREAD was sooooooooo overwhelming that I put it off and put it off and put it off and finally forced myself to go in for a fitting yesterday. It was seventy different kinds of humiliation (like the lady having to lift my arm fat up to get a pin under there) but I was able to maintain my composure most of the way through the fitting. I didn't lose it until she started telling me that she wanted to bring up the waistline into more of an empire waist because it looked better. Yeah, I agree, but this dress is not my choice. I have to have the same dress as everyone else and that means I have to have the waist riiiight about the same level as my spare tire. She points to the picture and in her broken English tells me that it won't look good because the people in the picture don't have "this" and she pokes my fat.

For reals. Seamstresses aren't a breed to hold back on the criticism and this wasn't the first time a seamstress has told me that a bridesmaid dress would look better on me if I lost a few pounds, but maaaaaaaan, I wasn't expecting the poke.

But she's totally right. I knew full well that the waistline in the picture would look horrible on me, so we split the difference and hopefully the sash that Sarah is making will disguise the fact that my dress is slightly more empire-ish than everyone else's.

So blah, blah, blah: My arms and the dress TORTURE MY SOUL.

But here's the bright spot in my ensemble:

I picked my shoes up from being dyed and I kinda love them. I don't think Sarah is all that hot for them, but the other day we were looking for earrings for her to wear for the wedding and we established that we have the exact OPPOSITE taste in accessories. She's into tasteful and I'm into PIZZAZ!

So, at least my shoes make me happy, which is a big deal since I was initially disappointed that I couldn't wear gold ones.

Speaking of Sarah, picture #3 is from Monday when I took Sarah and her friend Hillary on a tour of SF:

Hillary is visiting from Iowa and really, it couldn't have been a more beautiful day.

Sarah wanted to check out the Japanese Tea Garden at Golden Gate Park so we did:

I don't get what the big whoop is about that place, but neither did Sarah, so we crossed it off the list of things to do with tourists from Iowa.

Hillary was the third Iowan I've shown around town and so far they all love Alamo Square:

And there you have it: A light picture post, but with lots of words.

To summarize: Curry stinks, I like my new red shoes and San Francisco is beautiful.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Pretending I'm an Olympic marathon runner.

According to Weight Watchers' eTools, morbidly obese exercisers like me earn 10 activity points in a 40 minute step class. This has always seemed high to me, but step class isn't easy, so maybe it's true. On the other hand, I figure I only earn 5 activity points at boot camp, but I feel way more SPENT at boot camp than I do after step class, so I don't really know what's what.

Inspired by watching yesterday's Olympic coverage of the men's marathon, I decided to see how many activity points I could earn by, say, running a marathon. I searched for "running" and found a variety of choices, all specifying mile times. My 14 minute mile was not represented, but as soon as I eek my time down to a 9 minute mile, eTools can help me calculate my efforts. But since I'm an OLYMPIC MARATHON RUNNER in this scenario, I picked the 5.5 minute mile, which is still slower than the winner's pace (GO KENYA!) and entered in 126 minutes of activity (the winner's approximate time) and guess how many points he would get??

Go ahead, guess!






THIRTY-THREE MEASLY POINTS for running 5 miles an hour for over two hours?!?

That's crazy talk.

That's the equivalent of a fat person's WW points for the day (I specify "fat person" because my friend Big D gets something insane like 15 points because she's borderline too skinny for WW but I admire her for taking care of 5 pounds before they turn into 50...and I wish I could rewind back to 2nd grade and get rid of the first five pounds when I had the chance). I don't know how many calories are in 33 points, but I'd guess about 1800, which doesn't seem like enough ESPECIALLY considering the activity point calculator is assuming MY morbidly obese ass is the one running the marathon. I'm sure the 112 pound Kenyan winner would earn less than that.

Anyway. There you have it: My nutritional analysis of Olympic marathon running.

Stupid hippies and their stupid patchouli.

My next door neighbor has his apartment up for sale. This is good news because A) I like new blood and B) he's a smoker and it stinks up the hallway like nobody's business. Of course, a new neighbor could be worse and really, he isn't a bad neighbor, but I like to roll the dice every now and again.


He's having an open house today and the scent they chose to de-cigarette his apartment?


MY LEAST FAVORITE SCENT EVER and now it's funking up my hallway.

Okay maybe not my LEAST, because cumin, garbage, poo, and morning breath still exist in the world, but I'd be willing to say that patchouli is in the top three on my list of scents that people seem to enjoy, even though they stink.

The other two?

Paperwhites and old lady scented dog shampoo/drugstore perfume. Paperwhites smell like cat pee and when I went Googling for a picture of them for you Internet, I kept finding descriptions of them as "sweet smelling." Gross.

And the old lady scented dog shampoo/drugstore perfume? I don't know what the hell it's called, but it should be outlawed. Alls I know is that when my sweet baby Dave comes back from getting his butt hair trimmed, he stinks like old lady.

AND, I'm thinking that this blog is getting much more tl;dr than the old one so here's a picture of the most handsome dog in the world:

Wednesday, August 20, 2008


I think just about everybody already knows this, but if you happen to be the one person I know who has not asked or who I have not outright told, then ATTENTION PLEASE:

I have retired from Burning Man and I am 100% okay with that decision. I'm happy about it, actually.

I didn't even unpack my camping stuff last year and instead, LB and I drove straight to the dumpster in her office's parking lot and DUMPED THAT SHIT. I think my dad might have a heart attack to hear about me throwing away PERFECTLY GOOD [read: totally freaking TRASHED] camping supplies and even LB was like "I think the homeless people by your house might like the MaxxDaddy" and I just flat out didn't care. SCREW YOU, HOMELESS PEOPLE!

I'm not really that much of an asshole, but I just 100% really, truly and forever was D-O-N-E with Burning Man.

Do I hate Burning Man? Did I have a bad experience?

No and no.

But did all the effort required to survive, much less have fun, get old after nine years? Did I reach my limit with all the hippies and the frat boys?

Yes and yes.

I KNOW I'm only 32, but really people, I'm too damn old. Not "too old" like "I need an Advil after sleeping on the ground for a week" but "too old" as in "I have different financial priorities than I did when I was 22 but money aside, wouldn't it be kinda nice to use my vacation time for something, oh I don't know, RELAXING for once?"

And also? Now that I'm 32 and I'm OWNING my uncoolness and I don't care if you know I LOVE Britney's latest album, I no longer feel the need to be okay with recreational drug use. I'm no longer on Team No Thanks, But Do What You Want. I'm a proud member of Team You Know What? I DO Mind. Could You Do That Somewhere Else Please?

So there you have it. I am old and crotchety. And I don't care.

That said, there are a couple of things I will miss. Like the feeling of how cozy a tent and a sleeping bag can be and falling asleep to the sound of far-off voices and the not-so-far-off THUMP THUMP THUMP of the music. It's like falling asleep to a heartbeat.

Unfortunately, the pre-dawn hours usually also mean that the temperature drops and your tent and sleeping bag and comforter aren't quite so cozy anymore and the thought of reaching for the extra blanket and therefore losing the exact spot of warmth you've created in your sleeping bag is torture. And what happens when, in the bitterly cold pre-dawn hours, you have to go to the bathroom? And I'm not even talking about good citizens who pee in the porta-potties, because at night? I'm a bad citizen. That big wet spot by the tire of the van? It didn't RAIN right there in that one spot only. But GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY, tearing myself from my sleeping bag and the "warmth" of my tent is PAIN. Seriously. Breaking my hand out there that one time wasn't half as bad as the torture of a pre-dawn potty break.

So why not hold it? Well. Let's just say that my "pee holding in" muscles are the same as my "getting up off the air mattress" muscles. I can do one or the other, but doing both? It takes meticulous precision and I am not known for my grace under (bladder) pressure.

And while we're at it, my "getting off the bike" muscles are also connected, aren't they LB? Heh. *THAT* was a glamorous moment.

I am also completely in love with dusk in the desert. Not really for profound or artistic reasons, but really because as soon as the sun disappears behind the mountains the temperature becomes tolerable that 30 minute window is the BEST time to sit down, have a cocktail and watch the world go by.

Some would argue that that's really all I do anyway -- sitting down, drinking cocktails and watching the world go by to which I say IT'S FUCKING HOT OUT THERE DUMBASSES! I don't want to get on my bike and work up MORE of a sweat! SHEESH!

So I'm a wuss? Yes and no. One of my most favorite afternoons ever was spent having a cocktail party in the middle of a whiteout, made even better by the fact that we had arrived home to find our "living room" in shreds. It was kaput, but what were we going to do about it? When in doubt, have a cocktail. Or really, a beer, since it's easier to keep the dust out during a storm.

Falling asleep inside a heartbeat, cocktails at dusk, and whiteouts are all things I'll miss.

Another thing I'll miss is the rare feeling of being filled with life. This is going to sound all mushy gushy koombaya but really, sometimes you can FEEL it out there. There have been many times over the years when I've consciously thought "How could I ever NOT come here??????????? How SAD will I be when one year I won't be here? How JEALOUS will I be knowing that other people are here and I'm not???"

Except maybe one of the more awesome things about being 32 is that I'm able to find that life-filled feeling other places. Places with that don't peel the skin off my fingers. And okay, maybe it's not as hit-you-over-the-head-with-glee as it can be at Burning Man, but it's not less good or anything.

Maturity, let me show you it.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Happy Burthday in the Middle.

I knew he'd get a kick out of it so I sent my dad that picture of the ("Olynpics") cake from Cake Wrecks and HOT SPIT if he didn't present this cake to me for my birthday yesterday:

I burst out laughing and the cake nearly landed in my mom's lap, but hahahaha! It was on purpose, of course, but BEST BIRTHDAY CAKE EVER!

And FYI cake snobs, my dad and I are like the only two people in the world who think Safeway birthday cake is the only way to go. Fancy schmancy cakes with whipped cream and ganache and bittersweet chocolate shavings?


And incidentally, I clicked over to Cake Wrecks to get the link and found something you all really need to look at.

My, you're looking very obese these days.

Earlier this year, when discussing our resolutions for 2008, a friend of mine said that one of her goals was to be overweight. Well that's a twist, right? Someone who actually wants to be overweight? Yes, because according to the charts (and you can keep all your BLAH BLAH BLAH'ing about BMI charts and what bullshit they are to yourself because I KNOW, but it's not a mystery that I'm fat and I don't use them to measure my value as a human being or anything so RELAX) she was currently obese and she decided that she'd shoot for overweight.


Me: Hello, Anonymous Friend! Myyyyyy, you're looking overweight today!

Anon Friend: Awl, thanks Elizabeth...that's the nicest thing I've heard all day!

So if her goal was to be overweight, then my goal would be to achieve obesity. Huh? Now listen little children, I'm not going to get cut out of my house anytime soon (have you SEEN those shoes on TLC? Like the guy who sneaks Chinese delivery through his bedroom window with a pulley system??), but according to the charts (BLAH BLAH BLAH), I am morbidly obese. So my goal: ACHIEVE OBESITY! WOO HOO!

(Incidentally, I was recently pleased to discover that I weigh less than Yao Ming, but of course, he's a foot and a half taller than I am. At 32 (!) a growth spurt is unlikely, but YOU NEVER KNOW!)

So all of that is just a lead up to the fact that this morning at boot camp I shaved 21 seconds off my timed mile. I'm not a big "let's gather around and cheer each other on" kind of boot camper but I couldn't help but exclaim that OMG THAT'S 20 SECONDS FASTER THAN MY BEST! and I was kind of caught off guard by the OMG THAT'S AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!! response from the crowd.

Damn those girls for getting me choked up before 6AM.

But anyway, I'm proud of myself. Really ladies, it's the best $210 I spend each month and I really hope that getting a job doesn't mean I can't keep going, particularly since employment will mean that I can actually afford to go and won't need to keep financing it through the Bank of Mom & Dad. I haven't lost much weight, and on a good day I can squeeze into a smaller size jeans, and I really wish I had lost a lot more weight, but the fitness test results are the inarguable proof that I'm doing something good for myself.

At the beginning of my first session I could do the following:

8 girl push-ups in one minute
10 second wall-sit (where you lean against a wall and pretend like you're sitting in a chair)
10 second modified plank (on the knees & forearms)

And I couldn't even run a whole mile at the beginning. I did a run/walk that clocked in around 15 minutes and at the end of the first session I could run a whole mile in 14:30. I know this is a snail's pace (and sometimes when I go to the track there are walkers who are lapping me) but I'm proud of it anyway.

This morning's results:

23 girl push-ups in one minute (my goal is to graduate to non-pussy push-ups)
90 second wall-sit
35-ish second (I can't remember exactly) REGULAR plank
14:09 mile...still a snail's pace, but the 13's are within reach!!

All of this is awesome and it makes me feel happy and strong (except I'm kiiiiinda bent that I couldn't hold out a few more seconds on the plank because as soon as I dropped, two others dropped right after me and if I had KNOWN they were waiting for ME, I would have been waiting for THEM and a sweaty, quivering plank-off would have ensued). Still morbidly obese, but also happy and strong. Of course, it isn't without a whole new crop of problems that I didn't have when I was alternating couch-sitting with a few weekly step classes or bouts with the elliptical machine. Like HELLO, RIGHT KNEE! I never knew I had knee problems before, but good gawwwd it's a bitch. Plus, I have overall aches and pains (and not in that good aching muscle kind of way) and I feel like an old lady sometimes, but USE IT OR LOSE IT, ELIZABETH!

I'm even kind of thinking that perhaps boot camp is the cause of my recent hermit lifestyle. See, wearing heels has become somewhat uncomfortable but I'm going to hang on TOOTH AND NAIL because once I give up on heels it'll be a slippery slope to crocs and SO HELP ME GOD I'd rather die. D-I-E. Dead.

So boot camp = bad knees = sensible shoes = I'd rather just stay home.

That said, boot camp also = me kicking your ass in ways I never thought possible.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Happy Birthday Over the Top

In the past 90 minutes I've seen three separate links to a blog called Cake Wrecks. How did the whole world know about this site before me? Not that I'm a trendsetter or anything, but I like cake and I like stupid, so the fact that the entire internet got there before I did is an indicator that I need to take my head out of the sand.

So anyway, Cake Wrecks. I love all the creepy baby butts and the slutty pregnant woman cakes and the quotation mark disasters, but here's the one that inspired me to share:

Number one, it's the most boring cake in the universe and whoever decorated it probably has the pizazz of a stale marshmallow. Number two, it's actually very reminiscent of a cake my dad ordered four score and seventy-nine years ago. Or, more specifically, back when I was a kid. The olden days.

My dad, a former Marine (except once a Marine, always a Marine and all...SEMPER FI!), likes to celebrate the Marine Corps birthday with his Marine buddies and this particular year he went down to the local bakery and ordered a birthday cake with the Marine Corps emblem (which he also had tattooed on one of his teeth) and Happy Birthday written over the top. When he went to pick it up he balked because it wasn't quite what he expected.

What was wrong with it?

It actually said "Happy Birthday Over the Top."

I don't know how old I was at the time -- no more than ten or eleven (NOTE: I shouldn't talk smack about dumbasses because I totally just typed "ten or 11") -- but even then I knew that this was STUPID. I wish I had a picture to share but that was in the olden days before my dad (or really anyone else for that matter) had a digital camera to capture the magic, so you'll have to use your imagination.

Double Bonus: The bakery lady thought the Marine Corps emblem was a team logo or something. This is more forgivable though because I think the only reason I know what the Marine Corps emblem looks like is because A) I was the only five-year-old on the block who knew the lyrics to the Marine Corps Hymn and B) my dad DID have it tattooed on his tooth and all. For reals.

But FYI:

Saturday, August 9, 2008

I was having an off day yesterday and instead of going out and painting the town red with the legions of people who invited me out last night (okay, legions = three), I decided to put on my elastic-waisted pants, order delivery, and watch the opening ceremony of the Olympics. I don't think I've ever settled in to watch it before and I'm really glad I did. I mean, yes, watching all these athletes makes me a little bit sad that I was sitting there eating 8,000 calories and really, I have no hope of ever becoming an Olympic athlete, but I can run a mile DAMN IT, and I'm proud of that.

So here are my overall observations:

1. HOLY CRAP THAT CHINA REALLY KNOWS HOW TO PUT ON A SHOW! I mean, GOOD GOD, it sure did look complicated and I can't figure out how ALL THOSE PEOPLE moved in sync. 2008 drummers allllllll moving in the exact same way at the exact same time? I was completely impressed by the drummers but really, the whole show was spectacular and I think that if I was there, it might have made me cry. Or at least given me goosebumps.

I don't know how you did it China, but hot damn, I'm impressed.

2. As a whole, the world's athlete population is very good looking.

3. The commentary during the parade of nations or whatever it is is like the Cliff's Notes of world politics. Like, oh hai, the only woman on Afghanistan's team disappeared before the team left for China. WHERE DID SHE GO? She's believed to be in Europe seeking asylum because of the death threats she received for being a lady athlete. And OH BY THE WAY, China isn't observing the political truce they're supposed to be honoring and they canceled Joey Cheek's visa because of his support for Darfur. And based on their responses when these teams entered the stadium, Chinese people love Iraq and hate Iran and the commentators were surprised that France got such a warm reception.

Politics, let me show you them.

And YOU KNOW I can't get away with a post about the Olympic opening ceremonies without commenting on the fash-uns, so here are the highlights (and forgive my not-even-getting-off-the-couch-to-snap-them camera phone pics...I couldn't find pictures elsewhere, so this is what you get...thank God for Tivo!):


I'm kind of inclined to believe that people in Mali probably never wear woolen-looking scarves, particularly when it's 90 degrees with 90% humidity in China, but what do I know? Maybe that's cold for them? Plus, hardly any of the Olympic wardrobe designers seemed concerned with being seasonally appropriate, so it's not like Mali was the only group sweating their butts off.


These were my favorite ensembles of all. They were crisp and hip-hugging in white with green sashes and they looked sharp against the athletes' skin. Plus, they all looked more animated than some of the other groups of athletes and were dancing and enjoying the moment. GO NIGERIA!


Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, Hungary... I can pretty much just post the picture and leave you to draw your own conclusions, but I will say that when I was a kid we had a Hungarian neighbor and I remember thinking that she was alllllways a big explosion of patterns. Now that I see what Hungary selected for this event, I'm thinking that my Hungarian neighbor was actually just keeping it real, Hungarian style.

And this little kid? I want to pinch him:

Why? Because he was a survivor of the earthquake China suffered in May and he went back into the rubble to save a couple of his classmates. Why did he do that? Because he was one of the class leaders and it was his responsibility.


Out of the Closet and Into the Frying Pan

It's a new day and yes, a new blog. I've kept a blog for several years but it has always been on the down-low. I don't know why I felt like I had to closet myself, but I did, and just like I'm no longer horrified at the thought of admitting to my family that I may have attempted the on-line dating thing, I'm OVER feeling like I need to refer to my blog in hushed, secretive tones.

So there you have it: I'm outing myself as a blogger.

But why am I switching horses midstream? Why not just keep on keepin' on with my old blog? I have a variety of reasons and none of them really matter outside my own head but ultimately, it's because I want to try something new.

And also because back 100 years ago I bought and never did anything with it and this seemed like an easier way to keep the dream alive. Heh.

And just so we're clear, while the name might imply otherwise, this is not intended to be yet another "OMG BACON IS THE BOMB" blog. I'll let all those other people review bacon related food products and talk about how awesome their bacon shower curtains are. I mean, bacon is delicious and all but I do not support bacon related home decor.