Cook time sweet potatoes

Basically a million years. Why does it take so long to cook them? Do they take a million more hours than normal potatoes? Or am I just that impatient when it comes to that delicious orange tuber?

What is kombucha?

A mushroom that hippies eat. No gracias.

Bed bug bites

We don't have them. Whew, PTL.
 

Is it illegal to shoot people with air soft guns?

I didn't actually google this...like I started typing it but then...you know, I didn't want incriminating evidence. We live on Greek row and last night some punks were partying in our alley way, directly beneath our window, at 2am. So, I was just wondering.

I wasn't going to do it.

So.

Keep about your Saturday, people!

Let me regale you with a story about something mundane that I will make 100% more dramatic than it needs to be.

Get excited, these are they kind of riveting posts you can expect from me.

In Pittsburgh, you can purchase a residential parking permit which allows you to park on certain streets. Parallel park, might I add. So I was using a guest pass, apparently it expired, I received three tickets for $45 a pop and decided I needed my own.

So after extensive googling (not extensive enough, this is called foreshadowing) I used my off-morning this past Monday to drive downtown (!!!) to get a parking permit.

I'm from Lincoln, NE and our downtown is essentially a 10x10 square city block. Pittsburgh is a major city. I parked a million miles away, plugged an over-priced parking meter, and hoofed it to the County Building.

Also it was a balmy 9 degrees.

So I arrive at the County building and it looks like a scene from Law and Order, or the scene in The Dark Knight Rises when Bane is standing in front of a non-descriptive government building: business people milling around, everyone is smoking cigarettes, everyone has a manila folder, everyone looks harried.

Looooong story only a little bit short, I went to three (3) separate buildings and none of them sold parking permits. I finally discovered I was 5 blocks too far west (thanks, Google Maps) and finally found the correct building. Of course I bust in, feeling accomplished, ready to kiss the earth and the woman at the front desk tells me the registration for my car is expired.

Sigh.

I hoof it back to my car, find the current one (apparently I'm a glove box hoarder) and get a parking permit. Gleefully, the woman informs me that this one is only good until April.

Oh, but come April I will demolish getting a new permit.

Big city living.

Thanks for being here.