To celebrate moving into a new place with an excellent kitchen, I cooked. A lot. I was snowed in, aside from the ridiculous 4 mile hike in the snow, and the rest of my time was spent cooking, and watching 30 Rock on Netflix instant viewing (LOVE Tina Fey.) Today, I ate chicken chili for the 4th day in a row, and I'm only halfway through it. It's so delicious, and I never want to see it again.
I'm all poor, and tryin' to be health conscious, and really wanting to reduce my carbon footprint and whatnot, so I'm against trashing the leftovers...but man, do I ever want to eat a frozen pizza instead.
I had a glass and a half of white wine tonight, to bid a fond farewell to Emily and Ernie, and I'm kinda tipsy; they depart for Hawaii tomorrow morning, early, and they came to hug their dog (and maybe me, too) before they left town for the longest working vacation man has ever known. I'm actually (secretly) fairly bummed about this, and I find myself wanting to eat my feelings. That pimento cheese in my refrigerator isn't safe right now. Emily is my best friend in Raleigh, and I feel kinda twisty, like I have to go out there and make more new friends, when it took me long enough to find just the one really excellent new friend here in my hometown that I can just chill with, and have similar interests and temperments and shit. It gets harder to make new friends the older I get; I think I must be more discriminating or something. Regardless, I feel tired just thinking about the process of making more new friends. Maybe I'll just hole up in my temporary delight of a house and paint and write and craft.
So Emily and Ernie, in honor of your soon-to-be gaping absence in my life here in Raleigh, I'm going to go stuff my face...with grapefruit. Bon voyage, dearests! I'll hold down the crib for ya.
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