But I'm holding on. Or something like that.
I've had a little wine tonight, including a Tobin James Fat Boy...you are what you drink, you know.Retro wine-drinking Elliott, but a fine simulation of this evening.
I feel as though I've neglected you, dear reader. Don't worry, though, I'm still here. Lots of stuff going on, so I'm sorry if you feel like you're last on my list. You're not.
Trying to coordinate a home sale, a move, and finding a new home 2300 miles away takes its toll.
I haven't posted recipes lately, because even though it's 82 degrees outside, I've moved into hibernation mode, and I'm rocking the comfort food like nobody's business. This means roasts and mashed potatoes, food that doubles as childhood memories, and cookies. Really. I've eaten an entire pumpkin pie in the last week.
My mom, sister and brother-in-law visited last weekend, spoiled the dammit beyond all fairness, and we went to see manatees and stingrays and tarpon and such down by the electric plant. It was almost relaxing enough that I forgot what my password was on Monday. Their visit was enough to wash the foul taste of last week's plumbing mishaps from my mind.
And now, in less than a week (by hours, at least) we'll be back in the homeland, the frozen tundra, the great white north: Wisconsin. Even though I'll be working for three of those days, that still means six days of freezing temps, icy sidewalks and windshields, and at least one trip to a trashy corner bar. Good times.
Because I had time off, my whole calendar is screwed up. I wrote Monday's post on Saturday, thinking I was running late. I never got around to last week's fun fact. Did you notice? I'd like to pretend you did.
And a final, caring, special holiday note courtesy of the bottle of red I had this evening. TLC, knock it the hell off.
We already tolerate the Duggars, grit our teeth through Jon and Kate. We humor you when you run not one, but two separate series involving little people. We sit idly by when you rip off 'beloved' Food Network shows. But did we really need this? Not a rhetorical question. We do not.
Call me surly, leave me coal in my stocking, don't care. I think we've had enough.
Enough reality television, that is, not wine. Can't have enough of that.
On a positive holiday note, I've been toying with a special Christmas contest for you, oh dear reader. Oh, happy meat! Oh, happy soul!