It's addicting.... like salt & vinegar chips

I've found that I rather enjoy this new endeavor of mine. While I've meandered through my share of editing issues and difficulties, I think I've managed a pretty kick ass blog. I mean... as far as layout goes. Content is another story entirely. But I'm working on it! You might call it... my baby.

SAY, speaking of babies! I've got some mad-crazy baby rabies surging through my estrogen-fueled bod. It's insatiable! Every now and again I'll check out The Bump (mommy version of The Knot) to see if anything speaks to me. I think what I might be seeking is some sort of "design an adorable nursery!" feature, or maybe a "dress up this adorable baby girl." But, that might make me a borderline stranger baby taker amber alert kidnapper pretend the baby is mine kind of woman. And I just don't think I want to be that. Not yet anyway.

So, I supress the urge with booze and bad decision-making.

stops for a minute to think of a logical transition into my next subject.... nope, not happening...

Why do magazines insist that we all have fancy holiday parties to go to?? Every time I flip through it's like "Buy this rhinestoned dress, and these sequined shoes, and master this grand updo technique before your next holiday party!" Pretty sure the parties that I'm planning to attend involve jeans and a sweater. Maybe even sweatpants, if I'm really lucky. So dear friends, while you prepare for your chic parties (in your urban Uptown brownstones) for this holiday season, sure, bring out the caviar, the Dom Perignon, and the fine imported cheese, but please don't forget the pickle rollups and don't disown me when I arrive in fuzzy socks.

Your Holly Jolly friend,
KTM