i got skills, baby...just not the kind you might be thinking of

Last night, I was on fire...I was awesome...I was skilled....I cooked the best damn curry ever. Luckily, I had a few friends here to share it...and, I got to revel in the success of my culinary efforts. Today, I am baking challah bread - but thus far, no action from the yeast....I know this is really "edge of your seat" kind of drama, so, I'll keep you posted as the dough rises...or doesn't rise....a real cliffhanger for a sunday morning.

Post - curry, dessert and plenty of wine (a little secret to those who suffer from the same affliction as myself: love red wine, but avoid it like the plague due to unbearable headaches, sometimes after only one delcious glass - look for a bottle that DOESN'T have "contains sulphites" written on the label. I swear you'll thank me for this helpful tidbit), we decided to head downtown to check out a band that had a pretty sweet write-up in The Coast (the local free weekly, for those not "in the know" of Halifax culture). The band - The dust Poets - did not disappoint. Kind of a folk/klezmer (spelling help please?)/country mix-up. I even bought their album on my way out the door. I 'd like to take this opportunity to thank the lovely CD seller, who kindly let me off the hook for the complete price (I only had $18.83 on me and she let the $20 merch. come home with me).

I walked down Argyle Street, past all the patio drinkers, past the horrible velvet-roped sidewalk that led into a horrible bar, hearing girls insist "we're on the Guest List...we ARE!", past the drunk girls teetering on their too-high heels, shielding my eyes from the sequins and ears from the squeals, ignoring the shouts from the drunken frat boys, ignoring the girls acting all coy, i looked on in distaste and wrinkled my nose, i stared at their horrible, dress-me-up clothes, i walked on bravely, my stoned-thoughts were deep, I arrived at my house and stumbled to sleep.

Sorry about the bad poetry...it sort of accidentally went on that way and i decided to keep it. What i'm getting at, is...well....perhaps i had a few too many puffs on that lovely glass birthday pipe...and the reason why i seldom smkoe pot anymore is that it makes me get all introspective and weird, but as i made my way home last night, i was suddenly hit by the idea that i never want to go out on a Saturday night again. ever. Is that a sign of age? am i become a curmudgeon at 29? can someone out there help me out on this one...please?

my bread awaits me...must run....oh! I'm BAKING BREAD ON A SUNDAY MORNING FOR THE LOVE OF PETE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHIT! FUCK! I MAY AS WELL JUST GO DARN SOME SOCKS AND KNIT SOME DOILIES! it seems i am developing some kind of complex or condition.....i wonder what will become of me if the proper cure is not administered soon??

~shrinking violet

The 30th year

The 30th year of my life has begun. I'm not actually 30 - i just turned 29, but, as a friend kindly reminded me in a card she sent from B.C. (along with a really nice hand-blown glass pipe), i am in fact, in the 30th year of my existance. Weird. I'm okay with it, mostly. I don't feel any older, of course (i used to hate it when i was a kid and had a birthday, and adults would invaribly demand if being 9 felt any differnt than being 10. "Of course not!" i'd think "Why am i surrounded by morons??"...okay, okay, i probably didn't think that exactly, but it drove me 'round the twist.

I'm not sure what to do with 29. I was really thinking that i'd start practicing for 30, as i have decided that once i hit 30, i'm going to suscribe to the "my body is a temple" theory. Y'know, microbiotic foods, yoga, no booze (well, how about organic wine only?), no bad sex just for the sake of getting laid, and other such pure, pristine, practices. Although, i'm not off to a good start, as the night after my actual birthday, i got ridiculously drunk with friends on a silly variety of drinks (a decade of legal drinking and i forgot what i learned as an under-ager: "no mixing!"), including sake, beer and shots of something sweet and creamy. I spent the next day vomiting - and not just at home. Oh no, dear readers, i decided to punish myself by convincing my houseguests, who so kindly came by on their way across the country to spend my birthday with me, that i was just fine, and we all walked to the farmer's market together. If you happened to notice someone puking in a somewhat projectile way into the flower planters across from the Four Points Sheridan hotel - yup, you guessed it! Yours Truly. On the walk to pick up my car from where i left it the night before, i had to dump out the chai tea i was attempting to drink, so i could use the cup to barf into....as i walked up Blowers Hill....in the middle of a busy Saturday afternoon. For REAL!!! Talk about immature....