Let’s talk about the kitchen in my first apartment: A room the size of an airplane galley* with the bonus feature of a countertop hinged to the wall. If that countertop was not in the lift and stow position (just like an airplane tray-table) it wasn’t possible to open the refrigerator or the oven.
This was great incentive (for my roommate) to do the dishes. I preferred moving the dirty dishes to the living room. *I’ve peeked in an airplane galley – it’s usually hidden behind a curtain (that matches the drapes) – the flight attendant works mechanically, loading up that cumbersome cart to roll down the aisle.
The delicacies that came out of that first apartment kitchen included (and were limited to) chicken pot-pies and tater tots. The crisper drawer in my refrigerator contained a large amount of an herb – but that was none of my business.
Oh, but the tater tots!
Straight from the freezer and onto my cast-iron skillet: washed down with an Old Milwaukee and a Camel Lights cigarette.
Whew! Did I mention I had 18 by the balls? ALSO, if I had a hankering for ribs OR pizza, I only had to walk down the stairs. That’s right, the one and only Ribizza fulfilled that strange combination requirement for Uptown, Minneapolis.
Exactly five minutes West of my house is Kings Wine Bar - a newish (rhymes with Jewish) little neighborhood restaurant. They serve tater tots but with sauces far fancier than ketchup. I was there last night and there didn’t seem to be any Old Milwaukee or Camel cigarettes on the menu but somehow, after we ate our tater tots, our table was magically covered with candy.
This doesn’t have anything to do with the card I wrote/designed last night. Or does it?
And I am here because I love the smell of flooded basements. 
Is that asbestos tile??
Don’t hurry home guys!
And *I* know it’s summer for other, more important, reasons.
But I’m trying to be a better person/less into body-sculpting, so I decided to read a book. It was written by 
Chapter 25 was especially fun to read because Madge is so near and dear to my heart and I could relate to the notion of elder-abuse.
Except my mom has made it very clear that she wants to be euthanized via pillow-suffocation, pre-elder-abuse.
but I have never really studied it…
And again…
I KNEW IT.
And EMTs had to come to that same dingy bedroom, on that very same night, because we thought my chest-tube had fallen out?
Choosing paint color is just like choosing ink color. But with less Jen and more anxiety.
Dinah told me later that she was plotting my murder while I took this photo.
Who needs pants when you have legs like that? Amiright??
Broken femur?
SERIOUSLY???