The post where I become a kleptomaniac.

Apparently I am a thief. Of ideas that is. When you come to the realization that you are narcissistic enough to start a blog, you think it's going to be super easy. I'm cute! And witty! And interesting! After about 3 weeks you realize that not only is it super hard to think of stuff to write about everyday but that the only living beings that find you that interesting are your mom and your dogs. And they only love me for the kibble.

I am in a fog of writer's block that I can only assume is a result of the vats of wine and cheese I've consumed over the last week. So I decided to steal a feature today from Jaime, author of one of my favorite blogs that you can find here. She's as cute, witty and interesting as I fancy myself and so I've decided to shoplift her "Media Monday" feature here and detail all the media that I am consuming at this moment:

TV SHOW:



Mr. Valentine and I started watching this show when CBS ran the first season. Dexter is a forensic scientist who moonlights as a serial killer. He's by far the cutest serial killer I've ever seen in my life and incredibly creative at dispatching his victims. But don't worry, he only kills "bad" people so he's kind of like Robin Hood. Well, that is if Robin Hood had been a sociopath who listed "dismemberment" amongst his turn ons. I bought the hubs seasons 2 & 3 for Christmas which I am embarrassed to say we are almost done with. It's really that good.

Book:

The Road fell into my hands about 4 years late but it is every bit as good as the many glowing reviews would have you believe. Briefly, it's about a father and son traversing a post-apocalyptic world with nothing but a pistol and each other. You know, light holiday fare. I myself only put it down to pour more wine. Don't cheat by seeing the movie that just came out, read the real thing.

Music:



If you don't own any Wilco, do yourself a favor and get some. Start with "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" and expand from there.

Blog:

In terms of blogs that I can't get enough of, this one is currently at the top of my list. Go there for the hysterical recaps of "The Hills" and stay for the surely-I'm-going-to-hell recaps of "Intervention". Comedy gold.

Movie:



I don't go to the movies that often. They're cold, the seats suck and your feet stick to the floor. I have to really want to see a movie to go out to one. The last movie I saw in the theater was "Precious" and holy hell was it good. It's completely depressing yet strangely hopeful and I cried my eyes out. In the effort of full disclosure though, I cry at "The Muppet Christmas Carol" so that might not be an accurate reflection of the film. (That tiny Kermit gets me every time.)

So there you have it. My current media fetishes which paint me as much darker than I actually am. My media Monday isn't quite as awesome as Jaime's but such is life. I'm like Diet Coke. No matter how much you try to convince yourself it just doesn't taste like real Coke.

No Soup for You!

Just kidding. You can have all the soup you want my pets.

Growing up, I ate the typical California fare: lots of fish, fruit, veggies & Baja style Mexican food round the clock. I ate the obligatory In-n-Out burger obviously, but maintained a largely healthy So-Cal food lifestyle. About 5 minutes into my first Midwest winter, I become keenly aware that my new climate required some heartier fare. All the sudden I wanted, no needed, to eat things like meatloaf and mac'n'cheese and ribs and did I mention meatloaf? 6 years after I packed my life into my little red Jetta, me and the Midwest have kicked that former iron deficiency's ass.

You can only consume so much beef & whiskey though until you are slapped with the reality that you are going to need to be fork lifted out of your apartment one day if you don't throw some veggies down your gullet. So, in an effort to feed both my husband's Midwestern appetite and my need to not ever wear an elastic waistband, here is the super easy, super delicious, super healthy soup I made last night. It is adapted from a Food & Wine recipe and is a perfect meal for a snowy pre-Christmas night:

Spicy Kale Chowder with Andouille Sausage:
Ingredients:
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
9 garlic cloves, minced
2 large onions chopped
2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger
1 lb. Andouille sausages, slices 1/4 inch thick
28 oz. can of Italian tomatoes, chopped, juices reserved
3 quarts stock (either homemade turkey or chicken or low sodium store bought)
3/4 lb. Kale stems & ribs discarded, leaves coarsely chopped (I used green & purple Kale, it was gorgeous)
1 can of cannelinni beans, drained and rinsed
Salt & Pepper

Directions:
Heat the olive oil in a large soup pot. Add the garlic and onions and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 12 minutes. Add the ginger and andouille and cook for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the tomatoes and their juices; bring to a boil. Add the stock, beans and kale; return to a boil.

Reduce the heat to moderate and simmer the soup until the kale is tender, about 10 minutes. Season the soup with salt and pepper and serve, or let cool and freeze.

OK, so I know that sausage isn't particularly healthy, but look at the rest of it! Tomatoes! Kale! Beans! Ginger! You'll love it, your husband will love it and your ass will thank you.

"After three years in Chicago, I decided to call it a career." - Ted Lindsay

One of the challenging parts of living in a major metropolis like Chicago is finding an apartment where you can a.) stand to live b.) afford the rent c.) not want to murder your neighbors. Since Mr. Valentine and I lived in sin for years before going legit, we've navigated these waters for some time with varying degrees of success.

Our first place was a studio that was roughly the size of a prison cell and half as charming. But it was clean and cheap and most importantly got us out of our mom's basements.

The next place was better, in the sense that our bed wasn't in the living room. It was small & old, but was an awesome location that allowed dogs, which was important since we had illegally adopted Beans already.

A lot had changed by the time we were ready to move out. Mr. Valentine was a recent grad with a real job! I had stopped tending bar and started working a 9-5 job and we were engaged. By this time Ikea/hand me down furniture no longer had a strangle hold on my decorating sensibilities, so things we're starting to look more like us and less like a gang of Scandinavians fought a roving band of frat boys in a knife fight for the right to decorate.

This time around we decided we needed a sweet city pad which introduced for the first time to the Faustian bargain of city living: apartment vs. neighborhood. Unless you've had the good fortune to be born a brainless, talentless trust fund idiot like the Kardashian/Hilton/Hills losers, you will be forced to decide weather you want a lesser apartment in a cool neighborhood or a nicer apartment in a less desirable 'hood. We went with the latter.

Our third apartment was in an old warehouse building that had been converted to loft condos and it was oh so cool. Vaulted concrete ceilings, exposed pipes, stainless steel, floor to ceiling windows. It was very urban chic and much cooler than we are. It was also located smack dab in between a Salvation Army boarding house, a crack re-hab facility and a homeless shelter. But we were 5 floors up, had a doorman and a private garage, which was a good compromise. We lived there happily through 2 years, another impulse dog adoption and our wedding. We realized soon after the wedding that we'd outgrown the condo due in large part to the insane generosity of our friends and family and my overzealous use of the registry scanner at Pottery Barn.

We started looking to move with the following criteria: 2 beds, 2 baths, dishwasher, in unit laundry, central heat & air, covered garage & some sort of outdoor space. Anyone who's lived in Chicago will tell you that those specs don't come cheap unless you are looking to live in an "up and coming" area. Miraculously we found a place with all our amenities, within budget and moved. It also is conveniently close to a liquor store, pawn shop and blue light cameras. But I don't mind, because I've got my handsome husband, my health, a gorgeous Christmas tree with presents overflowing, a full wine cabinet and a dog that looks like he came from Michael Vick's house. Which helps.

"Glitter is the herpes of craft supplies." - Demetri Martin

I like to think of myself as a guy's kind of girl. I love beer, whiskey & basketball and have on more than one occasion made some dude my bitch when it comes to sports trivia. That said, I am a total chick too, and said "chickness" seems to flow a little more freely around the holidays.

My most recent expression of girlishness is surrounding Christmas decorations. Mr. Valentine & I braved the snow and got our tree on Monday. You may remember that my Christmas ornaments were STOLEN last year by someone who has a cold dark pit where their heart should be (my money's on Kanye West. I DO live in Chicago). But I finally accumulated a respectable new collection of trimmings for the tree and they are fabulous. Even the hubs thinks so, saying that we replaced our old ornaments with better ones. I concur that this fresh crop of ornaments is better and I can tell you why in one word:

GLITTER.

I am not talking about the ill-conceived Mariah Carey movie. I'm talking about Martha Stewart meets overzealous scrapbooking with a hint of 5 year old girl thrown in glitter. My tree looks like Glinda the Good Witch of the North decorated it. I mean there is glitter EVERYWHERE. And it is fantastic. Glitter snowflakes, glitter balls, glitter bows and the Pièce de résistance, glitter tree topper from Pottery Barn that cost as much as the damn tree. (Not joking, not even a little bit.)

But I, like a magpie, am attracted to the sparkle which in my mind makes it a logical investment. Because if you can't drown yourself in glitter at Christmastime, when can you?

The Grinch Who Stole my Christmas Ornaments

Some of you know that last July, in the process of moving, someone who surely shall burn in the fiery pits of hell stole my Christmas decorations. I'm not even going to try to analyze the psyche of someone who would steal Christmas ornaments except to say that their Karmic backlash should be swift and forceful. I'm thinking death by fire ants.

But I digress.

So now I have to restock my Christmas decoration arsenal. I had some ornaments that are impossible to replace, but thought I could at least get started with the basics: lights, bows, candy canes & balls (stop laughing pervs). I did not anticipate this to be a Tolkien level task. I figured the basic layers of Christmas tree decorating could be found at Target & Home Depot so I schlepped my poor husband around last night after work to get started. (Me being completely OCD, I need the decorations in advance of the tree to avoid any Charlie Brown Christmas references).

We started at Target, which usually does not disappoint, but it appears they've gone a little off the rails in their quest to be "hip". All I wanted was some bows and red, green & gold balls (again, stop laughing pervs), but they were nowhere to be found. If I wanted a 1970's revival tree with disco balls, hot pink & electric blue I would have been good to go. Apparently, if you're a square like me who just wants a green, red & gold tree, Target has passed you by.

We pressed on to Home Depot, since it defies all logic to shop without buying anything. I had seen an ad with a happy looking family gathered around the friendly Home Depot salesman buying strings of Christmas lights for $1.77. My incredibly patient hubs and I finally tracked down a not so friendly Home Depot salesman and tried our best to recreate the magic of said commercial. That would have been easier had he not laughed when we asked where the $2 lights were with a dismissive, "Those were gone in November." He wandered away muttering about how he hated his job. I hear ya' buddy. I worked retail once.

$18 dollars later, all I have are 600 Christmas lights and memories of the ornaments I use to have. It's a start. I'll find enough ornaments and bows to deck out my tree, even if I have to journey to Walmart.

Scratch that. If it comes down to that I'm switching to Hannukah.

My Super Duper Post Thanksgiving Workout

1. Get up at 11:36 AM (still technically morning)

2. Put on workout clothes/shoes (the cuter the better)

3. Grab husband and dogs

4. Walk for 100 yards, run for 30 (repeat for roughly an hour)

5. Stop by your most favorite coffee shop in the world and get a latte (skim of course) and a Spinach-Feta cheese quiche (um...sure, this is skim too)

6. Amble home at a snail's pace...

...and watch the pounds melt away!

Ten Things I am Thankful For:

1. My husband. He's cute, he's funny, he lets me buy shoes whenever I want, he's the hardest working person I know and he puts up with me. 'Nuff said.

2. My family. My parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, grandma are all dotted along a sliding scale of awesome. There is not a single one of you that I don't look up to and aspire to be like. For those of you that aren't near me, know that I love you and miss you everyday.

3. My friends. Some are near, most are far but all are amazing. I don't keep up with everyone as often as I should, but know that your friendship means the world to me.

4. My dogs. They are smelly, ill-behaved and require WAY too much attention. They also are the only little beings in the world that kiss away tears, snuggle when you are sick and always are happy to see you. That type of unfailing loyalty and love will do a soul good.

5. My mom. I know, I know, I already called out family but my mom is more than a mom. She's my very best friend in the world and truly the best mom ever. The unconditional love she gives me is without compare. She also has exceptional DNA that I cross my fingers every day filters down to me. She also has a bar. In her house.

6. My very beautiful, most special BFF ever Banana. (You know who you are) You are beautiful, smart, kind, generous of spirit, funny and the bravest girl I know. I have never been more scared than when I thought, however briefly, that you might be taken from me. Thomas Fuller wrote, "If you have one true friend you have more than your share." I certainly do.

7. My health. With the exception of my fallen appendix (RIP), I remain blessed with good health. I should run more and drink less wine but hell, life is short and my body has served me well till now. Keep truckin' little buddy.

8. My memories. I didn't really know what I was getting into when moved to the Midwest on a whim and certainly didn't know how much I'd miss you all back home. The memories of home serve me well in the middle of these cold cold winters.

9. My in-laws. Lots of people hate their in-laws. I adore mine. Since the day they met me, they've welcomed me with warm hearts, good food and even better cocktails. They are simply family to me now. (Just stop asking when we are going to have kids, ok? xoxoxo)

And finally, number 10 is a wish that all of you have as much to be thankful for as I do. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

Damn you Tom Skilling. Damn you to hell.

I just saw a commercial for the local news weatherman, Tom Skilling, which can only mean one thing.

Snow.

My mortal enemy. My arch nemesis. My bete noire.

I have lived in Chicago for almost 7 years now and I've come a long way since my sun-drenched California days. When I moved here, 60 degrees required a coat. Now I consider that bikini weather. 7 years ago, 45 degrees would have given me a petite mal seizure. Now? That's prime grillin' weather baby! That said, I have never, ever, ever gotten used to the snow.

Don't get me wrong, it's pretty. The first one of the year is always so festive...big fat flakes falling onto streets lit by Christmas lights. It's like a Rockwell painting on a Jose Conseco steroid bender.

But then it keeps falling. And falling. And falling. And pretty soon those virginal white flakes have melted into the mucky grey city sludge that turns a grocery store run into a cold, slippery, white knuckle ride that would make Mad Max pee his pants.

When I lived in California, I could smell the ocean. Now I feel the snow. I feel it before it's even started. A chill seizes upon this place and it's almost like a fog rolls in...a fog that won't lift until my tulips start to push towards the sky next May.

I felt it today for the first time this season. Another snow about to fall. Another season of cold weather and warm hearts. And I never thought I'd say this, but I like it. It makes me feel alive and hopeful for the next warm days. It makes me happy for the good cheer and love we feel this time of year. And it makes me ache for the people I can't see, which is why I'm not quite ready for Tom Skilling to tell me what I already know...that snow is coming.

WARNING: Crack Dip is not to be taken intravenously.

2 posts in one day, I feel so productive! This is another recipe post due to MULTIPLE requests for the crack dip recipe. For the layman, crack dip is a deconstructed buffalo chicken wing. (How American!)

I take no credit for this recipe, it comes straight from my mother in law who in addition to being gorgeous and smart also boasts a well stocked liquor cabinet and an endless supply of awesome appetizers. Here it is in all it's glory:

Ingredients:
8 oz. cream cheese, softened
1 cup ranch dressing
1/2 cup Frank's Red Hot Sauce
3/4 or 1 cup shredded chicken (you can use canned chicken, store bought Rotisserie chicken or cook some skinless chicken breasts)
Blue Cheese crumbles

Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Combine cream cheese, ranch, hot sauce & chicken and mix well
Bake at 350 for 20-30 minutes
Top with blue cheese crumbles
Serve with tortilla chips & celery sticks

*Healthier options: I lighten this up (slightly) by using reduced fat cream cheese & ranch, skinless white meat chicken & serving with baked tortillas chips. No one has ever noticed the difference. (When you live in Bears country you have to cut calories wherever possible!)

NO ACTUAL CRACKHEADS WERE HURT IN THE MAKING OF THIS RECIPE.

Total Request Live: Recipe Edition

After my football post I had some requests to share recipes, so here is the first of many to come:

Hummus:
It's a bit counter intuitive for me to post a recipe for hummus b/c I don't really use one. My dad taught me how to make it when I was a kid and at this point I don't really measure anything out. I did make a batch though and tried to get a handle on approximate measurements for reference. It's an imperfect science, so add things to suit your taste.

Ingredients:
2 cans garbanzo beans/chickpeas drained and rinsed
2/3 cup tahini (can be found at ethnic markets or Whole Foods)
1/3 -1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup water (more as needed to thin out)
1/4 cup olive oil (more as needed to thin out)
2-3 garlic cloves smashed
Salt/Pepper/Paprika to taste

Directions:
In a food processor, combine garlic, beans, tahini, lemon juice, water and olive oil. Process until smooth. Check the texture and thin out as needed with more lemon juice, olive oil and/or water. Add salt/pepper/paprika to taste.

This will make a sizable batch. It keeps well in the fridge and can be thinned out as needed throughout the week. It's an incredible cost effective dish to make at home b/c all the ingredients are cheap or pantry staples.

You can also add layers of flavor with whatever you like, roasted peppers, jalapenos, sun-dried tomatoes, basil, etc.

Hope you try it!

Two Things I Think I Think.

1. If you are unaware that you are carrying a child until it falls out of you, you are probably not well suited to parenthood.

2. This is not good entertainment. It's a modern day freak show like the rest of reality TV.

I'm not going to lie, I have been hypnotized by the train wreck that is "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" on TLC. Not because I'm some reality show junkie, but because I cannot for the life of me fathom carrying around a PERSON inside me for 9 months only to be SHOCKED when it frees itself from my loins.

The best part of this show is the "in retrospect" segment. They always go something like this: "In retrospect, the insatiable appetite for anchovy eclairs was a little odd," or "I thought I had gas, you know, the kind of gas that feels like a tiny little person is kicking you from the inside".

And I can't figure out what is worse, the seemingly infinite pool of women who have no clue they're incubating a human being or TLC for pretending this is something we should all be watching.

That's all for today. I've got to go eat some chocolate coated pickles. (Just kidding mom.)

The Most Important Post In The World.

Is about my hair.

I have really good Italian hair (Thanks Mom!). It's long and thick and curly and pretty. Besides the rogue greys that have begun to infiltrate my temples like Germany into Poland, I'm pretty lucky follicularly speaking.

The problem with said great hair is that it takes an enormous amount of time and enough carcinogenic hair products to take down a grizzly bear.

Today I was presented with one of the most infuriating problems a woman has. I pulled back my hair last night at dinner, pinned it up carelessly without looking. Lo and behold, it looks like magazine hair. Tousled but not messy, bangs just right, volume without looking like Wilt Chamberlain circa 1974.

Cut to today. I exerted a massive effort to achieve the previous night's effortless chic. Big mistake. Huge.

So today, I look like Lilith from Cheers. Not what I was going for.

Sigh.

Are you ready for some football??

Just because me and Mr. Valentine's football teams suck, doesn't' mean we still don't love watching football. We just pretend to be Steeler or Saints fans like the rest of the country. Anyhoo, since our fabulous BFF's C & V are coming over, the meal is a little more substantive than normal, but still perfect fall football food. So here we go:

Blood Orange Mimosas (for the ladies)
Beer (for the dudes)
Em's homemade hummus & pita
Buffalo Chicken Dip (aka "Crack Dip")
Chopped Caprese Salad
Spicy Pork Po' Boys with pickle mayo
Buckin's Cajun Potato Salad

I love Sundays, lets all keep our fingers crossed that next year the Bears & Raiders don't suck.

Flattery will get you nowhere.

Here is a re-enactment of the first five minutes of my morning at work:

Co-worker: Did you go out last night?
Me: No. Why?
Co-worker: You don't look so good.
Me: Wow. Thanks.
Co-worker: No, I mean, you don't look awful, it's just that your eyes are bloodshot.
Me: Again. Thanks.
Co-worker: I went out last night if that makes you feel better.
Me: It doesn't.

There are some things you just don't say to people, especially women. I know I'm not Giselle, but I fancy myself fairly attractive. Just because I'm wearing a headband doesn't mean I'm recovering from a bender at the Chateau Marmont.

Allow Myself to Introduce...Myself.

Last week I introduced you all to Jake the Mistake but failed to feature our first pooch. So without further ado, this is Bailey, aka "The Beans":






Bailey is the yin to Jake's yang. The lady to his tramp. The Kelly Kapowski to his Zach Morris. Like any well kept woman, Beans enjoys the finer things in life. She loves sleeping on Pottery Barn sheets, hates kibble and runs into the room whenever I open a bottle of champagne. Besides the fact that she compulsively licks the wall, she's practically perfect. Notice I said practically.


F***ing dog keeps running away!! Our backyard fence has a sizable gap between its bottom and the ground. My dear husband assures me he will fix it any day now, hopefully before she makes it to the border of Indiana. She slithers out and makes us chase her through our neighborhood until we lure her back.


On top of this being terrifying, it's downright annoying. The last time she did it was on Sunday. I took her and Jake out to pee before I went to brunch/cooking class with my good friend. I had to chase her for THIRTY MINUTES.


While I appreciate the assistance in keeping my winter fat at bay, I most certainly do NOT appreciate being made tardy to the mimosa party. Sunday is the one day of the week that you can drink in the morning without judgement and I will be damned if she takes that from me.


Are you reading this my darling hubs? FIX THE DAMN FENCE.


Kisses, Valentine

We will title this segment...

...clues that I am losing my edge.

I will preface this by saying that I am not old. There is nothing more annoying than a twenty-something bemoaning her aged state, which I'm not. That said, I am noticing some disturbing new trends as I inch towards my twenty-tenth birthday that indicate my coolness factor is rapidly diminishing. You be the judge:

1. I ate grapefruit for breakfast BOTH days this weekend.

2. I Tivo'd both Sunday Morning AND 60 Minutes. And I've already watched them both.

3. I got unnervingly excited at the prospect of mulling cider.

4. I saw a skankily dressed teenager and muttered "where are her parents?" under my breath.

I wasn't always like this. I use to have some street cred, but I think it's waning. Oh well, I may not be smoking on my dad's roof anymore but I still do know Tupac's entire catalogue by heart. So I got that goin' for me.

Which is nice.

Fido...did you burn a cross on my lawn?

So I was lazing around this morning, minding my own business when I saw something that horrified me to my core: the new Snuggie commercial. For those of you living under a rock, the Snuggie is essentially an ugly fleece blanket with sleeves that looks remarkably like the Grand Dragon's klan robes.

I don't begrudge anyone comfort. Really I don't. I have a makeshift Snuggie myself, although mine is just a blanket that Jake chewed a hole in. Do I secretly like it in the privacy of my own home? Yes. Would I wear it around town? Nooooooo.

This commercial offends my sensibilities on many levels. First is the implication that it is appropriate to wear a blanket out and about to say, a soccer game. It's not. I played many many sports growing up. My parents shuttled me around to soccer, diving, swimming, water polo and music. I'm pretty sure they mustered up the energy to thrown on jeans before leaving the house. But I digress.

This is not the worst part though. The most egregious part of the commercial is that they have expanded their product line. I give you Exhibit A:





DOGS PEOPLE. If you and your Stepford family want to raise the roof in your Snuggies, knock yourself out, but do not, I repeat DO NOT inflict said trauma on a helpless little pooch. This dog would be totally justified in ripping out the jugular vein of whoever did this.

And just like that...it was gone.

The writer's block that is. Oh, and my husband. Mr. Valentine is on his way to the west coast to see his little brother's last high school football game, so it's just me, Jake, Beans & my wine cabinet. (I kid. Kinda.)

So I was floundering for something to write about and, as these things often happen, inspiration slapped me in the face and called me Sally. (Which is also not my name, so keep trying stalkers.) The hubs and I were driving home for lunch when we passed a school. There was a group of children outside, maybe 20, all different ages. They were running around in the newly fallen leaves, tossing them in the air, throwing them at one another, rolling in them and smiling the smiles that only come from experiencing pure joy. It was so refreshing, in the era of iPods and Wiis and Kindles to see that for children, joy never has and never will require a USB port.

So I am challenging myself to find that joy in my own days, wherever possible. We adults get so bogged down in the minutia of everyday life that it sometimes feels like it's been weeks since I've smiled a smile like those children. So I'm going to try to slow it down this year. Mull some wine. Cook for my family and friends. Watch my little brother play football. Sing with my mom. Take the dogs to the park without worrying about the mud.

Hell, I might even roll in the leaves. It won't be long until they're gone.

Writers block already. This does not bode well.

For the moment, no one knows this blog exists, which essentially makes it the virtual version of me talking to myself. That's probably a good thing because I have no idea what to talk about, which will come as a shock to anyone who knows me in real life.

I thought that I would shoot for a James Joyce stream of consciousness vibe until I figure out my angle. To that end, I would like to introduce you to Jake:

Jake is what we lovingly refer to as "Our Little Piranha Fish." (Big sloppy kisses to anyone who gets that reference) Jake is my second little shelter mutt, he appears to be Rottweiler/Shar Pei/Pit Bull. Watch out Labradoodles. This is the next big designer mutt, assuming the masses are itching for stinky, loud and destructive little pooches with disproportionately large heads. Jake will make frequent appearances and occasionally guest blog so I thought it only polite that you be properly introduced.

Success!

If I am not mistaken, I have successfully gotten this blog up and running. I look forward to one day having someone other than my mother read it.