bone broth martini

Hi, welcome to my gastropub. On the menu you will find some of our famous appetizers such as bone marrow, bone marrow popcorn, bacon fat bone marrow toast, bacon fat bone marrow popcorn charcuterie plate, bacon fat popcorn, and bone marrow in a bucket.

We offer fourteen different types of fancy burgers and one mediocre 12 dollar macaroni and cheese. Would you like bone marrow "truffle" fries on the side for 8 dollars?

For a selection of drinks with huge branches of rosemary in them, please look at the back of the menu.

We don't serve vodka or ketchup, the hot sauce is 3 dollars and made from Madagascar poopintini zombie peppers and you will need to sign a waiver. What sort of beer do you enjoy? We have 46 taps, most beers taste like straight up bitter pine needles or sour piss and bananas. It's an acquired intellectual taste.

I'll give you a moment to contemplate 

sadbriety

    Today marks 12 days without alcohol. I haven't gone this long without a drink since 2009, when I stopped for a month in order to quit smoking...but even then I smoked a ton of weed to get through the whole thing.

Now I have no weed, no nicotine, no alcohol, nothing chemical that I can occupy myself with. The oddest part about this journey is that if I felt that I was an alcoholic, I would try to find some sort of support group to navigate me through these waters. However, I do not think I am an alcoholic...but I do think I have used alcohol for a long time to self medicate an ongoing anxiety problem that has been present in me since I was a child. But, I truly love drinking and the kind of wild uninhibited fun it can foster when used responsibly...I've just reached a point where, as a grown woman, I feel that I should really take some time out to learn how to deal with my stress and anxiety in some effective ways that didn't involve vodka and beer. 

But nothing prepared be for how truly difficult this would be. I have felt so up and down all week...my emotions are super volatile and panic attacks threaten to disrupt everything, all the time.

Tomorrow I'm going to a Buddhist center to take up some of their free meditation classes, and I'm going to start running as much as possible beginning tomorrow. 

Logic tells me that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and I will come out of this a better person with healthier habits. 

But right now it just feels like 7 levels of hell all at once.  

three glasses of wine

HEY! WHY ARE ALL THE SMART PHONE "PERSONAL ASSISTANTS" WOMEN?!

First there was "Siri" and now there is "Cortanta"? Why do they always have to be ladies calmly instructing you towards failure? Wait, I have an idea...maybe Siri makes you fucking drive to Canada when you're just trying to find a local 7-11 because she's tired of your bUlLsHiT:

 "SIRIR CAN YOU TELL ME HOW TO EAT A CRAYFISH"?

"SERI CAN YOU SHOW ME HOW TO TAKE OUT THE TRASH?"

"SHIRI DO YOU WANT TO SEE MY DICK?!"

"CORTANA WHERE CAN I FIND TITS?!"



Listen, smart phone ladies are abused and I think it's time to introduce some smart phone dudes. I just feel like if there were fine ass dude smart phone voices being like "yes, let me instruct you on how to kiss a lady's flower" the world would be a better place.

sifting through sediment

One of the hardest things to deal with about getting older isn't any of the obvious stuff...the tiny changes in face and body ( that will no doubt give way to larger changes in decades to come), or the fact that suddenly you're surrounded by people married with babies who used to be your closest last call comrades. It's not the new responsibilities and considerations that take the place of lesser priorities (such as smoking weed and listening to Thievery Corporation as the sunlight changes in your bedroom). It's that hopefully you're reaching a point in your life where you want loved ones to be honest with you about your short comings so you can be a better person. You want to do active work on the parts of yourself that make you a lesser friend or partner or lover. And of course, it's easier said than done. Because the minute that someone works up the nerve to raise their hand and offers you a pearl of wisdom to aid on your road to better self awareness, you become certain it's a sand granule of bullshit.

Because it's fucking hard to listen to criticisms about yourself with an open mind. It's hard to stop, drop, and roll with what's being said. To not let your knee jerk and to calmly analyze why you are being perceived the way you are. It's so important to stop and listen and to resist every instinct to turn the tables on the person who is trying to help you. Growing older you realize that it's not a good idea to go through life with two middle fingers in the air "not giving a fuck" about what others think. It takes a village and there is always a balance to maintain.

But the beauty of it all is that when you really sit with what is being said and identify what you can do better and what needs work for the sake of yourself and the others around you, you get to sift through and find the things that you know you can't change. You are able to truly discern what are parts of you and your personality that are never going to go away. You might be able to change how you react to something and what you say, but maybe you'll never be able to change your inherently sensitive nature (you will always cry at the part in The Neverending Story when Artax succumbs to the sadness swamp.) Perhaps you can work on how you express your opinion, but not that you are opinionated. And ultimately the aspects of your personality that are steadfast are things that make you uniquely you. Maybe they are things that rub people the wrong way or make you look like a weirdo in group settings, but that's when you know when to stop caring too much about what other people have to tell you about yourself and how to live your life. Without these foibles you couldn't shine as brightly as you do.

This whole process it's necessary and important. It's like unearthing diamonds when all you were expecting were rubies.

Desert hell bugs and Trix

Last night a desert hell bug infiltrated our apartment. I was going to the kitchen to steal some of Trey's Trix and there before me was a black wasp-like creature about the size of a half a thumb. He was banging wildly against the overhead kitchen lights like a fucking maniac! How did he get in here!? This is terrible! He is between me and the Trix! I am frozen with fear because Trey, who is my bug protector, is at work for the night. I find myself cowering in the corner silently praying that I could get Trey to come home and take care of this tiny demon in our home. Alas, I was on my own. I told myself that I was a grown ass woman capable of taking this thing down. I am strong and I am going to take back my home from this unwelcome intruder. A montage of me doing sit ups and push ups and jumping around in an abandoned warehouse happened. Then I bandaged my hands up like JLo in that one movie where she is like...a badass or something. I was ready.

So, first things first I grabbed the Febreze I tried spraying it on him a few times. He dive bombs my head a bunch and I scream and Mochi my dog baby is terrified. Then I got really pissed off like...HOW DARE THIS MOTHER FUCKER COME INTO MY HOME AND KEEP ME FROM TRIX. I HAVE CEREAL TO EAT AND AN EPISODE OF MAD MAN TO CATCH UP ON. I decide to up the ante and grab the Scrubbing Bubbles. I sprayed him with that for a little bit and it worked better...he was weakened but still undeterred from his reign of terror.

Enough was enough. Time to roll up a newspaper and engage in some hand to hand combat with this insect of Hades. This lapdog of Satan! I was done using chemical warfare, and also nervous that I was going to breath in some of the Scrubbing Bubbles and thus have my lungs scrubbed and lungs are not for scrubbing. They are for breathing.

With my rolled up newspaper in hand, I waited for him to rest on the wall next to my feminist art calendar. I WHACKED! Missed. Fuck. Mochi at this point is completely terrified, she just wants some frozen yogurt and my lap, you know? I wait again. WHACK AND MISS GODDAMMIT. Ok ok. I pulled myself together and focused on this sonofabitch...I can't give up....I can't go to sleep with him in my house. He will lay eggs in my nose and then his spawn with crawl out through my bellybutton. I have to kill him. He lands on the overhead fan above the stove and I find my kill shot...I WHACK! HE GOES DOWN!!!! YASSSSSS!!!!! MOCHI IS LIKE: STOP STOP WHACKING WHAT DID I DO WRONG STOP IT OMG STOP!! And I'm like: IT'S OK MOCHI IT'S FINE HAVE A PORK CHOMP.

I wiped that little asshole up in some paper towels and threw him away and poured myself a triumphant bowl of Trix, which tasted all the more fruity and sweet after my amazing victory.

Sometimes, it's not until you find yourself alone and without protection that you truly become what you need to be to survive.

six play

 I can't help but wonder why condom commercials targeting women always show a couple tenderly and lovingly having sweet soft kissy face sex.

The popularity of 50 Shades of Gray should have put to rest the notion that women want to simply make sweet sensual love to our partners. We want to be nailed against a headboard, preferably while our boyfriends tell us encouraging filthy things about our bodies, duh.