This is my 2nd post today...I'm waiting for my Mom to finish making potato salad so I can help her set up her Skype account. And I found this while perusing the lovely Gala Darling's archives.

The Boy and I went out for sushi and pretended not to know each other. You never know what you'll learn about somebody - for example, I had no idea that my boyfriend invented thought and gave birth to the dinosaurs. They didn't teach us that at my ninja school in Sweden.

Just thinking about how spectacularly privileged I am to be alive enough to receive the world-class ass-kicking the Universe is currently delivering.

(image from http://fatknowledge.blogspot.com)

So I am kinda sorta on vacation now and The Boy and I are packing up our stuff to move out and the apartment is SCARY and we're trying to work out a trip to Cape Breton or SOMEWHERE for a few days before he starts work and I leave on a jet plane.

Also, I have a travel blog that will be up and running as of (approximately) 23 July.

Overheard on my phone

The Boy: So let me get this straight. The Hip "pulled out" of Virgin Fest?

Me: Oh, grow up.

Sassy Tortuga loves: Mortified

Step One: Wallow in self-pity. Temporarily.

Step Two: Eat some ludicrously expensive, high-quality chocolate.

Step Three: Get yourself off. Better yet, get someone to do it for you.

Step Four: Move on.

The breakfast that stole my heart many years ago in Costa Rica was recently featured on The Kitchn (they get credit for the delectable photo). Try it! Oh, and Haligonians: you can get Salsa Lizano at Pete's Frootique, although it ain't cheap.

Need a kick in the pants?

Excuse the BSG montage. I just had a jarring (in a good way) iTunes moment and I wanted to share.

All year it's felt like the world has been repeatedly hitting me upside the head, trying to stir me from my complacence. Maybe I should forget about the job applications that don't really excite me, and if I don't get anything cool just buy a share of a farm and somehow prove the naysayers wrong by building a thriving business selling $17 balls of alpaca yarn to dilettante knitters who don't care about the recession. I have a plan, see. I'm going to buck the ridiculous trend of selling yarn in hanks, which all the local producers seem to think is a great idea. But since we don't all own one of those machines that turn hanks into centre-pull balls. I figure saving my customers the agony of winding it by hand would win me a cult following. Centre-pull marketing. I'm telling you baby, if Wal-Mart brands can do it, the high-enders should, too. All I'm saying. Business plan.