Instant bravery: just add beer.

I haven’t been buying things unless I absolutely had to, because I was going to be moving, so the less stuff I had to pack, the better.

Except I ran out of alcohol.

This would be fine ordinarily, but I’m down to the last bits of packing, which means I have to confront the Boyfriend Box — a bunch of relationship remnants I’ve had tucked away, out of sight and mind in the closet, for more than 2 years. Like everything else in the apartment, I’m going to go through it and see what needs to be kept/tossed/donated. 

So I picked up a six-pack of Dogfish Head Namaste beer. For, um, inner peace. Yes. 

Bonus: I won’t have to pack the beer if I drink it all. But worst case, I move a few bottles to the new place.

Namaste, a quiet night at home, and all of Fiona Apple’s albums on shuffle. 

Let’s dance, feelings. I ain’t scared.

Zen and the Art of New Moon Nachos

Note to self: Go to yoga. You like yoga. You need yoga. 

Ahem… I SUPER don’t want to go. It’s “New Moon yoga” at 7:45, but because I am 100 years old, that might as well be midnight. 

Can’t I just welcome the new moon, like, at home in yoga PANTS? 

Besides, the new moon already happened this month, and I honestly don’t even know what a new moon signifies. I know it’s about cycles, so…does it have to do with my period? When you Google “new moon,” “Twilight” movies come up, so fuck the new moon.

How ’bout I just go home and make new moon nachos? Nachos are HELLA zen. I bet I can find all my inner peace with nachos.

Inner peace, indeed

I think part the reason I enjoy fingering so much is that, given the correct two fingers, I’m getting off on a symbol of peace.

That would also explain the tremendous calm that comes (heh) over me after it’s done properly. Namaste, people.