I didn't know they made bikinis in size fat fuck.

I love my kitchen. I was up 15 minutes earlier than normal this morning (although I was still my standard 20 minutes late to work), and I straightened up in there and watered the seeds that we planted Monday. We have ambitious plans for the teeny bed just outside the back door, and have started our peppers, zucchini and tomatoes from seeds purchased from Bountiful Gardens and got their tomato mix, which contains heirloom varieties with names like "Big Rainbow," "Cherokee Purple," and "Moneymaker." They're on a shelf that Brandon fixed up in the window last week; the kitchen is perfect for this because it's the only really sunny room in our house. The entire corner of the room is windows, and there is no better feeling to me than just hanging out there in the morning, drinking coffee, and plotting out my day. There is certainly a lot to be said about the restorative powers of sunshine. My mood is really dictated by whether or not it's sunny when I go out for work in the morning. Gloomy days make me want to hibernate.


I'm sending in our application and payment for the Whitton Farms CSA this week. I'm so excited, because it's the first time I've ever participated in a co-op. Starting in the middle of May, we'll be getting a sack of farm fresh produce from these good people every week!


Thanks for your many comments regarding the high school reunion thing. I remain undecided. I may be swayed by the price of the thing -- I saw the blurb in the county paper about the 1998 reunion last summer, and it was somewhere around $60 per couple for what I pessimistically assume was overcooked prime rib, a baked potato, and no booze. Plus, you had to pay cover to be in the same venue as some shitty band. Double Ew Tee Eff, man.


I had a nice three-day weekend (that's the kind of thing that makes me heart working for the gov't). Sushi on Friday night, the symphony on Saturday. I got a pile of lovely cookbooks, as well as a tome entitled "The Intimate Sex Lives of Famous People" from my dear husband. He knows me too well. The next time you use the potty at my house, you are free to browse it. We spent a rollicking Saturday night at Mr. Whitten's, where too much booze was consumed, for sure. My memories may be foggy but LT had sweetly posted the photographic evidence of it before I even woke up the next morning. What a doll. We made tamales on Monday, which was an all day ordeal that resulted in success! Everything on the internet advises that if you're going to go to the trouble of making the babies, you should go ahead and make 100 or 200 and freeze them. After cooking the meat and mixing the masa, and rolling all those little sons-of-bitches, I could see why. They were tasty and steamed perfectly, though.

Speaking of food, if you guys have not been checking in on the blog This is Why You're Fat, you should. It's photographic evidence of everything that's wrong with America's gastronomy. Be careful, vegetarians. There's a lot of graphic meat up in that bitch.