dark bars

In case you were wondering, the ocean and the Philly airport are doing well, and in fact it was a fantastic week. Today I went into work--and then did three and a half hours' worth and left. It was PFS.

That would be pretty fucking sweet.

I came home with big plans, mostly to resume the great apartment hunt of 2008, because the one mar of the ocean week (ha ha, "mar" is the Spanish word for ocean, that's so tricky) was that the little gray-blue place fell through at the last minute, but it's cool because that landlord felt so bad about the whole thing that she walked around the neighborhood, found an apartment with a fenced yard that she described as "much nicer than [hers]," toured it for me, talked to the guy for forty minutes, convinced the guy to drop his no pets clause and then gave him all my contact info--now that is a astoundingly nice woman--so anyway, I came home with the intention to call this guy that this woman handed to me on a silver platter, but I was hit with a case of post-tuna melt snoozies and crashed out with Law and Order and a little nap. I was wearing a pair of shorts that I haven't worn since last year, possibly because they make me look like a lesbian frat boy, and anyway--I cannot describe here how amazing it felt to be at home on a Monday summer afternoon, drifting off to sleep to the sound of Jerry Orbach. It felt like last summer, and that felt possibly more restorative than even the week in North Carolina.

But I'll stop now, because if there is one thing that my eleven months and two weeks in corporate land taught me, it is that no one wants to hear how awesome your non-corporate life is. Instead, I offer you this: there's new work up at The Dirty Napkin, including THE WORST MINNESOTAN ACCENT that has ever fallen out of my mouth on the title of "Dark Bars."

It is truly terrible, and it makes me sound like a middle-aged housewife from Bemidji, the kind that clips recipes from Taste of Home magazine and decorates a kitchen with cookie jars shaped like John Deeres. And hey, if you're into those things, more power to you. Me, I've just been whipping up a batch of my famous dark bars. My husband swears by them. They're made with dark chocolate chips and raisins, but the secret ingredient? It's love.