Declaration of Veracity

While I wish it were not, I solemnly swear that everything written in this blog is true.  I represent my domestic life as it actually happens with only enough embellishments to make it a worthwhile read.  This is not a scripted reality show.  Names will not be changed unless I'm pretty sure that the person involved would be unduly embarrassed or really pissed for the inclusion.

I have been divorced twice, widowed once, and have raised two only children (they are 15 years apart).  For the last five and half years, I have been happily ensconced in a 1918 bungalow above the Napa River in Vallejo, CA.  My roommates are an Australian Shepherd (capitalization of both words is important here) named Diego and Nick White-Cat.  There are six chickens in the backyard.  My neighbors rock.  I just celebrated my diamond jubilee.  I work two part-time jobs sometimes.

Now that I have set the moral compass for this publication, the goals of the blog should be discussed, but won't.  Instead, I'll get right to the meat of tonight's adventure.


CRAVING BISCUITS

Earlier this evening I saw a commercial for Pillsbury canned biscuits, and the fake steam and melting butter in the ad really grabbed me.  I posted to Facebook:

I'm craving biscuits. Imagine: flour, water, and grease combined in the proper proportions could feasibly make my night.

So, I made two 1/2 batches of biscuits.  1/2 Batch 1:

I rolled them out to 1/2" thickness.  They came out 1/2" thick.  You've got to admit the two cans look a lot alike, right?

1/2 Batch 2:

Only slightly better.  A close up may explain why:

See what I mean? It's all true.  I don't know how I do it sometimes...