I don’t like thinking of titles.

I have this fantasy that the cool girl I really am will one day emerge from the freaky provisional person that I am now. The new cool version of me wears black every day and is casually interested in the mystical. Hard drugs don’t scare her. She never spills lunch down her shirt. At the bookstore she glances at the self-help section with disdain as she makes her way to a shelf in the back to pick up a new book written by a South American refugee feminist poet.

But, until Cool Girl shows up and take her rightful place at the helm of my brain, drugs will continue to terrify me, my clothes will always get mysteriously stained, and I will fall prey to the allure of self-help books. I know most are trashy cash cows but who am I to deny the anti-intellectual optimist part of me its’ urges?  I want to believe the answers to my questions are out there just waiting for me to find them. I recognize that this is why religion is popular.

In the reading of one such book I was made to write a list of stuff I like and stuff I do not like. These lists are then reduced down and reduced down until you get to the stuff you really like and the stuff you really do not like. Simple. Unsurprising to anyone who has spent more than 5 minutes with me: I like to eat, I like to cook and I like to read. Thanks self-help book!

So that’s what I’m going to do here. I aim to toss my hat into the murky cesspool of mediocrity that is blogging (God, if only it were named something less gag inducing).

I am very tempted to self-deprecate here (this is probably going to be really shitty and passé and deserving of your pity) or to apologize (please forgive my ineptitude) or to be detached and aggressive (this is what it is you’re not forced to read it it’s a free country get the fuck out of here) or to be blasé and use humor so it seems as if the success or quality of what I do doesn’t matter to me (this is just for shits and giggles to kill time before I become an astronaut chef and all ya’ll are in my restaurant eating my moon steaks) mostly because starting anything new makes me feel immensely vulnerable and stupid.


Here I want to choose bravery and honestly and authenticity because I need more of all of that in my life. Along with well stocked kitchens, awesome interesting food, and writing that makes me feel plugged into humanity.



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