A foot in the water.

My most recent cooking experiment: cheesy buffalo chicken dip. I’ve had a weird craving for this going on nearly three weeks now; weird, because I don’t even like buffalo sauce. But I digress.

With the Super Bowl approaching in combination with the lackluster enthusiasm my friends here hold for professional football (SEC  fans to the grave), a few girlfriends and I took the opportunity to turn the assumed Sunday atmosphere into a good old fashioned cook-off.

  
(And yes, that is a tidal creek view. It reached 80 that day – much of the afternoon was spent on the hosts’ dock soaking in the sun.)

A smoker filled with ribs and many dishes later, I think it’s safe to say that my spin on the above recipe was a hit. And I guess I’m starting to like buffalo sauce. Who knows, maybe I’ll branch out into wings next. Just kidding. (FYI – I HATE wings. They really freak me out.)

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A typical Sunday evening these days.

Toeing the diving board.

I used to do this years ago. LiveJournal, OpenDiary – you name it, I was there – eating up server space with my vapid, high-touch and overly emotional high school drama.

10 years later I think it’s permissible to say I’ve grown. After frantically ripping myself from my Northern upbringing in an attempt to get away from my juvenile mistakes and start fresh – more on that later, I’m sure – I moved to the glorious South, graduated college with a degree in graphic design and a minor in English literature, and got a full-time job at a major publishing company doing what I prefer to call art direction for book design.

Now I’m learning the ins-and-outs of being an “adult.” Crafting, cooking, and maybe even some gardening are in store. Dare I say I’ve turned into my mother? Please excuse the tasteless remark, but I’d rather slit my wrists.

Hold your breath, this could get messy…