No, Seriously, What Do You Do For Your 30th Birthday?

One week later and the question is still bouncing around every corner of my mind, what am I going to do for my 30th birthday? I know my last post ended with me saying I want to have a party, but I don't think that's the case. I want a celebration of sorts but outside of my home (apartment). I do love to host; I love to cook complicated dishes with too many sides and desserts to match. I love to make a punchbowl treat with rainbow sherbet and four different spirits off to the side for your choosing. I love to run around all night and dote on my friends making sure everything is going smoothly. But what if this year I don't want to do all the work, is it so wrong to want to enjoy your birthday and not have to do the dishes at the end of the night? Last year, my birthday ended with my cat swallowing a streamer from our photobooth set up and having to spend the entire next day at the emergency vet. Sue me if I want out of this apartment!!!

The bar I used to work at was two stories: a dive bar downstairs with thirty-two beers on tap and a scary back hallway from the Saw movies, and an upstairs nightclub with a stripper pole and a patio bar overlooking Main Street. Those were the days. If I was still drinking, they would be perfect contenders to haunt for the entire night and have friends come and go. Well, if we're being honest, even when I was still drinking, the idea of having to bump elbows with nothing but frat bros and girls in matching baggy light wash jeans was less appealing by the minute. Okay, so no bar birthdays, what else is there?

Most of my friends are film nerds, so a movie theater birthday has come to mind. Renting out a screening room or however Cinemark does their children's birthday parties is still a horse in this race. There's a historic theater in a town about half an hour away where you pay a little more because it's beautiful and old. That one is just out of my price range, maybe for my 40th. 

As much as I bitch and moan when people suggest it as an activity, getting all dressed up and having a party at a bowling alley sounds kinda cool. But I would be so annoyed surrounded by children all night and in my mind's eye it's a cool retro bowling alley, like the one in Across the Universe. So...maybe not that.

A bigger city twenty minutes away has more opportunities to consider. An art museum, a museum about the Great Lakes, beautiful waterfront restaurants, a jazz lounge, a gay district. That city is calling to me, I just need to find something good. My friends keep asking me what I have in mind and I don't have a solid answer. I don't know why, but I feel like I'll know it when I see it. I just have to keep digging. Forty-eight days to go. Over and out.

With a Splash of Pomegranate

I spent the better part of 2025 bartending in a college town and desperately applying for any position that I could find. I was desperate, broke, and depressed which is an incredible combination of things to be while handling seemingly unlimited amounts of alcohol. Bad interview? Drink. Good interview? Drink! Going out? Let's get a drink. Staying in? I'll grab some drinks from the store. It seemed, at least from the inside, that I had very little control over my life and happiness and I just gave up and drank. I gained weight like crazy and was getting sick constantly, but it wasn't enough to make me stop. 

Once I hit my breaking point this past July, not drinking has been relatively easy despite the...initial road bumps. I've really loved how I've been feeling without alcohol in my system. Waking up for work without throwing up, not saying embarrassing things around people I care about, stressing myself out that everyone else is noticing that I'm drinking more than them. Now I've been naturally waking up at seven in the morning on the weekends, my brain is clearer and I feel like I'm able to make better conversation with those around me, I'm having to be intentional about how I spend time that was previously used to rot on the couch in a drunken state. It would seem like every aspect of my life that could be improved by cutting out alcohol, was. But as I hit the two-month mark leading up to my 30th birthday, I found myself feeling apprehensive about celebrating. Did I know how to host a party sober?

I love to host, entertain, and cook for the people I love. The last few years I hosted small scale friendsgiving dinners that I singlehandedly catered. Main courses, multiple side dishes and desserts, batch cocktails in a punch bowl - throwing parties is where I thrive, the spirit of Martha Stewart comes over me in a warm haze. The best parties are ones where there's good food set out, an 80s music video playlist on the television, and people are able to chat and lounge and do as they please. I hate a group activity and I really hate a group game. Once at a bachelorette party I hid in the bathroom for 48 minutes while everyone else played a riveting round of charades. No offense if that's your thing, but it certainly isn't mine. I love going all out on decor, food, and drinks to have the rest of the night stay casual and fun. Hosting is in my blood at this point, but do I have it in me to do it without drinking?

Last night my butch and I went to a get together at our friend's new apartment a few towns over. I was around strangers that turned friends by the end of the evening. We joked, laughed, sang, and ate so much cheese. Our friend pulled me aside when I first got there to let me know she made a batch mocktail because she knew I stopped drinking with spiced and pomegranate juice and it was so good I'm stealing the recipe to make it at my birthday party. That's right, in the process of writing out my thoughts into this blog post, I've made the decision that I do want to have a birthday party. I'm turning thirty and I've never felt more prepared in my life to tackle not only a new year, but a new decade, too. I have been at parties and bars without feeling pressured to drink. These are my friends who want to come together and ring in the next year with me, isn't that something to celebrate? Now we just have to think of a theme. 

Working Late, Eating Good

Last night I didn't punch out at work until 8PM which is not an hour I'm used to working until since I've switched from front of house to office life. We have tabling shifts where a few workers sit behind a table at community events and pass out branded swag items to kids and their parents. I used to do marketing for a janitorial distribution company (Imperial Brady, get hip to it) and would run those tables like the navy. Because of my position I have less flexibility to leave the office to help out unless its afterhours or on a Wednesday. So when the evening Latino Heritage Event was up for grabs, I responded to Marketing's email like I never have before. 

The fun part of the event is later today, so we were around for more of the community resources side of things which is always going to attract a smaller crowd. The evening concluded with the most beautiful dancing I've ever seen. Young girls in these gorgeous colorful, flowing dresses and ribbons braided into their hair. A passionate kind of tap dancing that also featured boys (and a masc lesbian!!!) as they stomped and twirled. Because I am who I am, I cried. Something something, young girls doing something they love that's meaningful to their culture. I love when girls get to be girls. 

After a lovely, quaint event hosted at our local fairgrounds (in the beef building, might I add) I headed home to spend a quiet night with my cat. Where was your butch? You're right to ask that. They had, once again, made the drive down to Kings Island to make the most of the Haunt season at the park. When they return this afternoon, we'll be heading to our friend's new apartment to partake in a presentation party. Now I have been invited to two presentation parties before this one but they ended up falling through, probably my old bartending schedule to be fair. But this one is a hot takes presentation party that I just cannot think of a topic for the life of me. The two presentations I made before were about the Scandoval controversy and a very shortened explanation of the Five Nights at Freddy's timeline. Our friend has a roommate that is younger and more online than me; no way anyone in this apartment has ever even heard of Vanderpump Rules, and if I made even one mistake on the FNAF timeline I would be drawn and quartered in the street out front. It's the hot takes that is making this hard, because if it was a normal presentation, I would do the Twilight characters as Bath and Bodyworks Scents, duh. Maybe I'll bring a snack to make up for my lack of material. Hmm....

And We're Back!

Hello hello!

Long time no blog. Last week was a bit of a cluster - it was a short week for both my partner and I as we prepared for some time off to go camping! If you know me, you know I am strictly an indoor cat; I don't do well with bugs and gunk and feeling uncomfortable. But we camped at quite possibly my favorite place in the entire world: Kelleys Island, OH. One of the few little islands at home in Lake Erie, Kelleys Island is a remarkable treasure of the midwest. 

My mom's family are some of the big names on the island, and this is a place where you start your introductions with your last name to see if their family knows your family. It's very tight-knight and isolated, a coastal small town environment. We would make the trek out there yearly growing up, to the point that I dreaded the weeks in the summer I spent broiling in the humidity of the Great Lakes. The usual things happened; family got older, funds were allocated for things other than the ferry ride over, and we stopped going to Kelleys. The occasional trip over the years was enough to sustain me for a bit, but as I got older I could appreciate the significance the island had on my family. 

My partner is an outdoorsy butch lesbian, so with even an inkling that I would be okay camping if it was there, we were set. Like real lesbians, we have a truck, Ford F150 in the shade Race Red named Clifford, lovingly. My partner ordered custom tents and air mattresses that were designed for our specific make and model so I wouldn't have to subject my old bones to the hard ground. We spent Memorial Day 2025 camping in the exact same spot, but it was different this time. It was October, for one, and the weather and bug populations were totally unpredictable. But that didn't matter to me. I'm on the cusp of turning 30, I just hit 70 days alcohol free, I recently celebrated my one-year at the most incredible job, my relationship with my family has never been better. Being on the island made me feel at peace. 

Now it's back to reality. I'm working late tomorrow to help out at our town's Latino Heritage Festival and then stopping in at the local Tex Mex/bakery to place a pie order for my butch's birthday later this month - woohoo! I'll never get over this little town and the spot I've earned in the community. Until next time.

All That and a Toothless Cat

If there was ever a week to break out the Holy Toledo! phrase, it was this one. Every single day had something for me to do and be anxious about. Coming down after my trip to mass last week and learning about the imminent mortality of my grandmother, I wasn't feeling very hopeful about how the week was going to go. Monday was time for me to finally face the music and refinance my student loans. After initiating the process well over a month ago with my mom, I let it fall to the wayside after I got to one of the final portions and saw that my monthly payments would be damn near five hundred dollars. Once I realized I was entering them incorrectly and my actual monthly payment was something much more tolerable, I was able to take care of that task and talk to my family again. I'm extremely close with my mom and sister, and when I'm putting off something important I always ignore them until I can finally get the balls to do what I need to do. Finally talking to my mom after almost two months of an occasional text was lovely.

Tuesday my cat Maple was dropped off at the vet for a dental extraction. She was rescued from a hoarder house before she was taken to the humane society and the health issues that impact her little six pound body astound me. We were told the buildup on her teeth was so bad she would need most of them removed. My partner dropped her off in the morning before work and the plan was that I would pick her up in the afternoon when I was off. I shot the receptionist an email letting her know that the vet could leave a voicemail or text me the updates if I don't answer because of the extra work I have to do on Tuesdays. Around noon that day I get a voicemail from the surgeon letting me know that once she was under the anesthetic they realized her teeth didn't need to be pulled at all! A clickbait title, my apologies. We picked her up that night and she has been sweeter than ever now that she's back home. 

Wednesday was hair wash day, enough said. Thursday I had a work event to attend a few towns over. They had Mediterranean food catered and I got to finally introduce my real-life friends to my work friends. Directly from the work event we had to drive to a different town to go to a local historic ghost tour. The first half was spent watching a powerpoint in the dark while a local paranormal investigation team showed us night-vision footage of chairs moving in old buildings. It was a husband, his wife, and a younger woman that the husband was absolutely having an affair with. They told us stories about a really intense trip to Gettysburg that they took together without the wife. The energy in that room, ghosts or not, was out of control. After that we were crammed into a horse-drawn carriage where a sweet old man in a suit told us stories of different hauntings that happened all over town. Our ghost tour tickets got us 50% off an appetizer at the local Irish pub, so that's where we all went to dinner. I didn't get home until almost midnight and remembered why I don't make plans on school nights.

Friday night after work my butch and I loaded up the car to make the multi-hour drive down to Kings Island amusement park. This is a park I'm not too familiar with, as Cedar Point was a bit closer to my family growing up, so I wasn't sure what to expect. I am what you could consider goth adjacent, but I actually hate haunted house attractions. Love a scary movie and a genuine communication with the dead. But theater kids in white contacts and face paint really get to me for some reason. The decorations around KI were so much scarier than Cedar Point! Blood, gore, entrails - genuinely creepy scenes that Dick Kinzel's pride and joy would never display. Because it was opening weekend for their Haunt season, the scare actors weren't out in full force like they will be the closer it gets to Halloween, and that was fine with me! I was able to have the most delicious chocolate ice cream of my entire life that I'm still thinking about.

Saturday was spent driving back home, getting breakfast grits, and stopping at a pinball bar. Today I ran errands, got a giant iced tea from the gas station, bought hiking boots for an upcoming camping trip, and met up with a friend for coffee. This coming week will be spent preening, packing, and prepping for the trip with pictures and a blog post to come. Now I'm off to play the new Dressmaker game and enjoy a little burrito. Happy Sunday! 

Crying in a Catholic Church

This week started off fine, right? A stressful staff meeting, a new gas station, things were relatively normal. Friday morning I woke up to a Facebook message from my father. This wasn't out of the ordinary as it was basically the only way we communicated, and I use that word very loosely. Like most children of divorce, I have an extremely complicated relationship with my father and, in turn, his entire side of the family. When I go to check his messages I realize it's actually two I have to read from him. The first, from many weeks ago, about him wanting to see me that I couldn't bring myself to answer at the time. The second letting me know that his mom, my grandmother, has colon cancer. At the time of writing this blog I still haven't been able to open up the message and respond, I'm going entirely off of old notifications and message previews. I don't know how to answer a message like that after ignoring him for so long, and I'm not sure when it will be too late to reply. 

Death is weird. I used to want to be a mortician in hopes I could view death from a more logical lens along with it also being an incredibly interesting career path. Spoiler alert, I was too dumb for mortuary school. Those who can't do, major in writing. The worst part of death is the limbo you're stuck in with the dying. We all know what's happening, it's going to happen to all of us at some point, but to know the person across from you has a finite expiration date is hard to grapple with, at least for me. I did the same thing with my grandparents on my mom's side; as soon as they were moved into the nursing home I stopped coming around as much. I couldn't stand to be there while the life is slowly sucked out of the room. You think that cutting off family members makes watching them die easier, it's never easy to live amongst death. I spent the better part of Friday crying on and off. I went to a local high school football game so my butch could play with the marching band for alumni night. Things felt off, dreamlike and unreliable, and I desperately needed to do something I was familiar with. So for the first time maybe fifteen years, I went to church.

Now let's get one thing clear, I was raised Catholic. My relationship with religion as a queer woman in the midwest is strained at best. The tarot cards on my desk and the hex jar in my freezer would also like to draw attention to themselves. I hate modern, hip churches. I hate young preachers at the front of refurbished movie theaters playing acoustic guitar. I hate making God out to be this friendly pal. I hate the casualty of most Christian churches these days, leggings and a running on coffee and Jesus tee. But Catholicism expands beyond all of that. Nothing about mass is fun, it's a serious event. There is chanting and praying and bells, skulls painted on the walls, stations of cross portraying each gory step of crucifixion, bones in the altar, organ music that rattles you in your pew. Besides the updated call and response changes that I refuse to acknowledge, fire and brimstone doesn't change, and for some reason I needed to be grounded there.

I didn't want to go. I drove around the block a few times and parked in a public lot a few streets away so I could calm myself down before I got inside. My heart was beating up into my throat and I couldn't breathe by the time my fingers hit the holy water at the door and I made the sign of the cross for the first time. Old men greeted me and handed me the weekly bulletin, old couples coughed in their seats, wood creaked beneath me as I took a seat in an empty pew in a way I hadn't felt in years. A stunning mural painted at the head of the sanctuary with a life size wood carving of Jesus on the cross. Something about the incense mixed with old wood and the ladies' perfume surrounding me was so comforting and so familiar. It smelled like my grandmother. I cried the entire time.

The way I felt when I walked out of that church an hour later was how I would feel when I walked out of therapy. I'm always crying. Thankfully weeping in church is not an uncommon thing, especially for Catholics, so no one paid me any attention. I don't think that this will be a regular thing for me, as much as my mother would love for me to go to church again. But it felt like a factory reset for my brain, almost like reverting me to childhood to process the death of a family member the only way I know how - crying in a Catholic church.

I Saw God at The Gas Station

As a simple white trash midwest woman, I know my way around a gas station. Long before the days of your luxury petrol stations like Sheets and Wawa donned every street corner and prior to the conception of Buc-ee's in those investors bellies, I would be making myself at home at the closest pump. Marathon, Shell, BP, Fuelmart, QuikTrip, FriendShip - these are pillars of society. At least for me. 

When I was in community college I would sleep at my boyfriend's house so we could stay up late, drink cheap whiskey, and watch his friends play video games for hours. If you can imagine, the kitchen in this place was never well-stocked by any of the six young men that lived there. I learned how to make Michelin-quality dishes out of crackers, condiments, and those weird Chef Boyardee macaronis that came in the little peel-top cups. Sometimes they would forget to pay the bills to their landlord (their literal father) and the utilities would get shut off. The amount of times I would race over to the BP down the road to take a whore's bath in the sink, use the bathroom, and pray they had pads in the dispenser so I wouldn't have to use Chipotle napkins again. All of this at 7:30 in the morning before my opening shift at Fazoli's. Black box dye staining the back of my neck, Canadian Club sweating out of my pores, and a Black and Mild wood tip tucked behind my ear for good luck. Jesus Christ why did I think that living like that was better than staying at my mother's house? That same BP had an absolutely gorgeous stud that worked the register at night. She had a deep voice, short hair, and when I went back to my boyfriend's house I would smoke cigarettes outside so I could stalk her on Facebook. I remember thinking I so badly wished I was with someone who worked at the gas station instead of someone who made me live off the gas station. And maybe that's true, but I think I was also just really gay.

So take my word for it, I know a thing or two about gas stations! All of this preamble to announce there's a new one in my town that just had the grand opening. It's no Sheets, but it's the closest thing we've got. The hot food I grabbed there for dinner tonight...If I had had access to food like that when I was unwillingly eating at gas stations for every meal I would have never known struggle. That food was hot and fresh and delicious. They had a tap wall just for different kinds of iced coffee. There was a fountain drink dispenser just for different kinds of teas! Not to sound like a bumpkin, but this is the best thing that's happened to this town in a while, and it's right down the road! When I was waiting for my food I befriended a sweet, dorky girl who goes to the college in town and she told me she had been to this gas station every day since they opened, she was on a first name basis with the entire staff. It hasn't been more than two weeks, that's dedication. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to make a rewards account for my new third space. 

A Good Tuesday Underneath It All

Tuesdays are the worst day of the week, bar none. My least favorite classes in college always fell on the T/TH schedule as opposed to M/W/F schedule. When I bartended my day was always Tuesday which was pint night at the draft bar and trivia night at the Irish pub - aka, the worst grad students you've ever met making themselves at home in my crumb-covered booths. Now Tuesdays are my stressful day where I have an additional job to do on top of regularly scheduled programming. Everyone in the office has to do one of these shifts so I can't complain, but I don't have to like it! Today we added our monthly staff meeting into the mix, which is my time to shine.

I buy the breakfast treat for everyone and for September we went with muffins instead of the usual donut holes. Then one of our doctors brought in two dozen donuts - yum! We had two people from the community come in to give us trainings on their specialties and one of them was a butch lesbian. Now, I'm a femme lesbian in an office of primarily middle-aged straight women, I'm just one of the flock. We have people coming in a lot - law enforcement, fire department, so many men that fall under the maintenance umbrella - and when a man comes in it truly is a cock in the henhouse. Pardon my French. We ooh and ahh and whisper to each other about how cute the guys are every time without fail. But a butch lesbian? I have never seen these women behave this way! Giggly, blushing, bashful. You're my favorite human, I can't wait until I can see you next! It's always amazing being able to listen to you talk. Oh can I pour you some coffee for the road? Ladies, relax! I know it's exciting to see a butch lesbian so close like that in the wild, but if you don't watch out I'm going to start campaigning for you to all leave your husbands. 

But today was not a bad day! I did my extra job, I did my regular job, I perfectly set up and tore down the meeting, I only got a little bit sweaty. Now I'm home, Below Deck on the TV, tea steeping on the kitchen counter, and a leftover quesadilla is calling my name from the fridge. Everything is coming up Milhouse. 

A Small Town Holiday Weekend

The art festival is in the final hours now; vendors beginning to wrap up what remains of their wares, food trucks start slapping on discounts to sell the last of the product, musicians on the main stage go from belting rock and roll ballads to leisurely strumming quiet jazz tunes in the humid morning. This town never looks better than when we come together for a community event. This is one of the first years since I moved here almost ten years ago that I didn't have to bartend the event. I got to walk down with my butch, meet up with coworkers turned friends, browse artist tents, buy handmade jewelry, and eat way too much cheese. Initially we were worried the rain would turn this special weekend into a wash, but the clouds stayed away a little too well, and the heat overtook the forecast. 

On Friday after work we walked down to do our initial spin of the block to see what artists were here for the weekend. A woman who specialized in black cat art won my butch's heart and they got me one of her prints with a little kitty peeking out of a tea cup with a slice of cake. We met up with friends and visited the biergarten, everyone went to get drinks while I snuck away to get something deliciously cheesy instead. We sat around and ended the night at the new bar my coworker works at on the weekends, unfortunately it was karaoke night, so we hid out in the game room in the back with a snazzy cheetah print billiards table. 

Saturday was all over the place. My butch has to do some work out of town for a few days so we spent the morning running last minutes errands, grabbing coffee, stopping at the storage unit, and visiting a new antique shop on our side of town - and our side of town never gets anything nice. It doesn't have a name so I'm not sure how they do their advertising, but I could tell it was going to be an antique shop for weeks now with the printed pictures of a Gibson girl they had hanging in the front windows. The parking lot was full and a handwritten sign on the door said ESTATE SALE - 75% OFF EXCEPT JEWELRY! and we knew we had to go in. We ended up leaving with an early 1900s Cedar Point painted plate, some silly glass figurines, and a giant signed print of Southern Decadence 2003 - the gay Mardi Gras celebration in New Orleans. It has one of those beautifully intricate houses that I've seen depicted in Louisiana, the houses that have stunning Creole architecture with an upper balcony and gorgeous colors, with a pride flag and so many depictions of generally gay people at this event. You see shirtless people painted with pecs, breasts, or top surgery scars and you can't tell the difference, it's beautiful. And we knew no one else in this town would accurately appreciate queer art. We scored it for $4 and it's selling on eBay for over $150!

Once my partner left for work, I diligently got ready as to not keep my friends waiting. Aka, I watched Mormon Wives and farted around for a few hours, oops. Went downtown with my coworker and met up with my old goth guy bff, we walked around the booths together and I got some jewelry from this eccentric older woman who makes her stuff out of silverware. It was so good I went back down this morning to get another piece from her! Then we went our separate ways and I grabbed dinner with my goth before walking home. It had finally cooled down at that point, the sun was starting to set on the last full day of the festival, and I had Dido playing softly from my phone, it was perfect.

This morning I woke up early to trek back downtown for a final peruse before the artists start packing up for good. I greatly underestimated how fucking hot and humid it would be and unfortunately wore something other than black so everybody could see my very sweaty back (amongst other parts...). I got my ring from the silversmith and then walked across the street to the coffee shop that is the beating heart of this town. I entered through the back to try and avoid the crowds as much as possible. In one of their used book sections they have a small box of vintage post cards to send. I have a pen pal that I met on tumblr years ago and is someone I still love to chat with, we've started writing again but I fucking suck at consistently writing her back because there is no place that sells post cards in this rinky dink little town. So I made sure to snag one; Molly, I'm sorry! Then I got a cupcake latte, the book One Nation Under Television to read and send to my sister after, and chatted with another coworker of mine who came in to buy coffee grounds after church. On the walk home I went down a different street than I usually take and found someone selling baked goods in their front yard. I grabbed a bag of sourdough jalapeño cheddar bagels to munch on for the week. I don't know how many times I have to say it, I love love love this little town.

Welcome to September

These days just keep going by faster and faster. Though I can understand why and how it would be some people's nightmare, I really can't get enough of the monotony of office life. Today one of our legal workers, who could lovingly be described as a cigarette grandma, gifted me a Christmas puzzle with the explicit instructions to pass it along to someone else as soon as I finish it. I'm thinking of passing it onto our finance woman's daughter who I just learned is verrrry into puzzles. The marketing girl brought in homemade scotcheroos and one of the girls who works in the back gave me an angry cat calendar. Yeah yeah yeah, you don't owe your job anything, down with the man. But what if I love making friends everywhere I go and work? What if some of the closest friends I've known started as coworkers? I'll keep on keeping on, it gets me free puzzles.

This weekend is my town's annual art festival and I can't wait, it's the first year since I moved to town that I'll be able to attend the festival and not bartend it. Artists from all over the county, live music, food trucks...I already know I'll be tuning into the local traffic cameras when things get too sweaty downtown. This festival has a way of always bringing people together. My partner and I are meeting up with our friend and her dad, I'm checking out art booths the next day with a coworker, and catching a local band at the biergarten with my middle-aged goth guy best friend that I met at my old bar. Three days of non-stop community activities within walking distance. This is literally my Burning Man. 

Lately I've been trying to be more intentional about my waste and make sure I'm actually cooking up what I've got in the house. This paired with also trying to be intentional about not spending money eating out means I've been having some interesting meals. I made some turkey meatballs and chucked them in the freezer so I can have an easy protein on hand because there are truly so many ways you can dress up a meatball. Yesterday I was driving home craving a burger after work, I thawed out a meatball, doctored it up, and made a poor man's smash burger! Today I was remembering the eggs in the fridge that I didn't want to go bad which lead to a homemade breakfast pizza with a parmesan peppercorn greek yogurt crust. Yum yum yum. To have a well-stocked pantry is to be ready for anything. 

When I was a kid my grandpa would make about five pitchers of sweet tea a week. One to keep at my mom's house, one to keep at my babysitter's house for afterschool snacking, and three to alternate throughout the week as we ate dinner there every night. Lately I have been craving my grandpa's tea like no other. I decided to dust off the old Big Lots pitcher and get to steeping, now I'm treating myself to my own batch a week. Last week was classic sweet black tea, this week is a smorgasbord of Meijer's tea aisle with raspberry, green, and Tazo passion tea all dancing together with some lemon juice. Not drinking alcohol has pushed me to exciting depths.

Speaking of exciting, I've decided to try my hand(s) at knitting! I crocheted for a bit a few years ago and it was fine, I just don't always love the look of crocheted items personally. But knitting seems exciting, challenging, and something else to keep my hands off my phone. There's a knitting group in town that has meetings on Tuesday mornings that I wish I would be able to attend. But, you know, work. I hate that this town has so many groups that they advertise that only ever meet during the workday. How can I be involved in the community if you keep me out!! Alas, until next time. I need my third cup of tea.