I’m almost 30 and I’m not a homemaker. I don’t have children I call “peapods”, “little angels” or “Graham Jameson Johnston III”. For that matter, I don’t have a husband I call “H”, “Hubs”, “Babykins” or some other non-identifying but adorable as shit name. I don’t even have a husband, or children.

I like to eat, talk about eating, discuss when I’m going to eat next, what I’m going to eat next, where I will eat next and of course, wine. I also like to run. After I run, I like to drink wine. Sometimes I enjoy crafting. After I craft, I like to drink wine. Nothing intense, just your basic “I found this on pinterest and it wasn’t a complete failure” type stuff. The crafts are usually re-evaluated, with wine, and I find the results are much better this way.

I believe, and hold this belief dear, that wine best accompanies food, cheese, crafts, time, running, annoying moments, friendship, cheese, charcuterie plates, and life. I like crafts. I very much like cheese. I LOVE Ina Garten. I have been known to spend my spring breaks attending live (and not live) tapings of the Martha Stewart show. While we are not friends, I imagine if we were ever to meet face-to-face (Ina, Martha and myself. And let’s be honest, Jeffrey too. Love that little scamp), we would be besties and spend our time summering in the Hamptons drinking wine on our chaise lounges while gabbing about where we shall plant the new crop of parsley.

I’m not particularly humorous or witty, but I often think I am. And I’m pretty sure that’s the point of life right? And I’m ever so slightly crazy. But only sometimes. Most times. Occasionally.

I spend time with my mother just so I’ll have stories to tell. They usually result in stories and in months-long Gazettes full of her nonsense. Most of these tend to revolve around her ability to be “natural” in almost any setting (secret: she’s not. She does like to match though. And by “match” I mean she likes her neon blue alligator heels to match her neon blue scarf to match her neon Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor jacket to match her fire-red hair. As I said, natural).

The painful realization is that I seem to have slowly acquired that same ability.

I work with my father, so he’s pretty much my best friend. And that’s not at all commiserable. It means I have a strong sense of self.

I don’t understand the internet. Or Instagram. Or twitter. I can, however, solidly convert a word document to pdf. It looks nice. That way I know when I send it as an email it will look the same to the recipient as it does to me! That’s the extent of my web fabulousness. For that reason, I’ll probably post work from such advanced programs as “Paint”, “Word” and “adobe” – and not photoshop or illustrator…straight up Reader.

Welcome!