As classy as glitter on styrofoam, as mysterious as a fog machine, and as helpful as a man dressed in leather who occasionally steals your siblings.

What the Goblin Sommelier suggests you would be wise not to argue with.

About Me

Hey beautiful!

Welcome to my brand new still quite little blog.  ((begins to hyperventilate)) 

I'm a single, twenty-something unprofessional in the D.C. area.  I'm a classic T.C.K. and moderately bisexual. Lapsed Episcopalian toying with the idea of going back to church.  Lapsed student toying with the idea of going back to school. Lapsed optimist toying with the idea of finding joy and delight in the world again, or at least in finding joy in really really irritating pessimists.  I'll just say for now that this should be the start of a pretty interesting year.  You'll catch up as we go along, jump in anywhere.

Things you should expect to see a lot of here:

1. Improbable schemes and strange notions.
2. Accounts of battles with anxieties.  I promise I shall try to keep it light to keep anyone else from getting anxious, but honestly I find half of the things I'm scared of genuinely too ridiculous not to share.
3. Heartache.  I am two months out of a two and a half year relationship and it still feels a bit like an acid-bath.  Or getting stabbed my a Morgul blade.  Actually not sure how much I'm going to write about that, but I do think it's important to mention the font from whence my bitterness springs.
4. Glitter.  Sometimes paint. 
5. Reviews of things I find utterly delightful.
6. Surreal and slightly less helpful reviews of wine.
7. Drawings!  Sometimes.  I have a whole other art blog - don't worry, I won't be flooding this blog with too many pictures of sad clowns and sunsets.  Actually, I once was taking a hike in Italy and wound up in a park with a cafe in it, and being thirsty and tired I made my way inside for a chair and a soda. The ENTIRE place was full of bright acrylic paintings of depressed clowns.  Every inch of the walls. The owner painted them and he was proud of them, but said his wife wouldn't let him keep them in the house, so he hung them up at his cafe.  I chose to sit outside and left as soon as I'd downed my coke.  My point is - don't worry, this blog won't be that cafe.



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