The rare instance in which I question bacon.

My good pal Kristin and I rewarded ourselves after a long run Saturday with a mini road trip to a bacon and wine tasting at a small ma and pop meat market outside of the city. At first people were all, “Bacon and WINE? What?” And then they remembered OH RIGHT, BACON and began drooling with me. Because, really, can you go wrong with bacon? Ever? You can pair that slice of magical meat with ice cream and I’d be on board. BECAUSE IT’S BACON.

And let’s not get me started on wine. You can just pour wine on my head and I’d be happy.

So we get to the meat shop, and the whole situation is really quite quaint. A couple tables set up with varied bacon appetizers (hey-o, bacon caramel corn) and wine samples, as well as different kinds of bacon. The idea of “jowl bacon” kind of gave me pause, but, you know, BACON. So I ate it anyway. Yes, it was delicious. Also butt bacon and Canadian bacon and beef bacon and peppered bacon. Mmm, BACON BACON BACON.

AND THEN.

The sweet, little meat shop man asked the handful of us in attendance if we wanted a tour of the bacon processing area.

Here’s the thing. I like bacon. In fact, that’s obviously an understatement. But I’m not so excited about where it comes from. Like, not at all. Pigs are adorable. Oink, oink, etc. But of course I opted in for the tour, anyway. BECAUSE FUN! BACON!

The back room was all sterile and stainless steel-ed and full of scary equipment whose function I can only imagine in my nightmares. But it was void of pig entrails and things, so WHEW! [wipes sweat from brow] However, on one of the tables lay a slab of meat. “Pig belly,” they called it.

Ew.

Meat Man showed us the way he trims the skin off the slab of pig belly, and you know, it wasn’t that gross. It kind of just looked like a slab of steak. I like steak. It’s cool.

AND THEN.

Other Meat Man opens up a door and out he drags half a hog carcass hanging on a hook. A HOG. CARCASS. ON A HOOK. Are you processing this in your mind? A skinless, headless, half-a-body-less HOG CARCASS hanging ON A HOOK. My first thought was of my sweet, little vegetarian bestie who would have absolutely lost her shit right there on the floor had she been there. Of course, she’d never have been there because BACON PROCESSING PLANT. My second thought was, “Oh shit.”

It was pretty disgusting. All cleaned out and gutted out and headless. Meat Man described the areas that are used for bacon and all other pork products as I made a mental check list of the pork products I’M NEVER EATING AGAIN BECAUSE OMG CARCASS.

AND THEN.

“Here, take a peek in here. It’s our cooler,” he said, motioning inside a doorway.

So I peeked.

AND THE COOLER WAS FULL OF HALVED, HEADLESS HOGS AND COWS HANGING ON HOOKS.

[collapse]

OK, so I didn’t really collapse or even break a sweat, BUT YOU GUYS. THE HORROR. Moo.

So we finished the tour after the mean men explained the rest of the bacon processing and smoking process, and we were led back into the lobby where we were again encouraged to eat the tasty bacon appetizers, and all I could think of was HOG CARCASS. I was significantly more hesitant about eating the peppered bacon this time, having known EXACTLY where it came from. But I nibbled nonetheless, trying instead to think of rainbows and chocolate.

For those of you who might think bacon is simply delivered by the magical bacon fairy, your assumption would be false. I’m very sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Do your best to recover from the horror as best you can. It’s hard, I know.

Oink.

Oh. And for the record, the meat market does this with the ground pork they keep on display, just to, you know, make you feel even better about your pork sausage. You’re welcome:

Edited: February 20th, 2012

Tattoos, boobs and running. Made you look.

Oh hey. Yes, I am Krista. You may remember me from another life. A life in which I regularly posted on this blog. The days of yore. Ah. Yes. I sigh wistfully.

Whatever. Hi. I’m still here with my spotty and stolen WiFi connection. It’s totally hard to maintain a blog when 76 percent of the time the internet connection in your home doesn’t work. God. Rude. Mayhaps if I wasn’t stealing from the unsecured connection of a foolish neighbor I’d complain.

I digress.

So I’ve been 30 for approximately 11 days. I’m still alive, etc. The tattoo is still inked into my rib cage. Funny story, speaking of tattooed rib cage: so, as I prepare myself to get inked in what has been described as one of the most painful places to get a tattoo, I vocalize my concern to the large man with the needle and ink that I’m worried it’s going to tickle. Dude looks at me, tattoo gun in hand, and says, “Oh. This isn’t going to tickle. This is going to hurt like a mother fucker.”

Guh…

So.

It did?

Gotta give the man credit for being honest. As a seasoned recipient of tattoos I handled the entire situation quite well, but hot dog that had some moments. Particularly the moment when I thought he was actually tattooing the words onto my boob, and I wasn’t sure whether to speak up or simply accept that there would be literature painfully tattooed onto my boobage. And how awkward if I intended to show that tattoo to anyone. Thankfully, the phrase is not actually inked into my boob, and we can all go back to breathing normally again.

Also today was my first legit payday in nearly four months. An entire paycheck. Earned by doing actual work. I’ve never had more fun paying bills. I’m all, “TAKE THAT, RENT. YEAH. I CAN PAY YOU NOW. AND JUST WAIT UNTIL I HAVE MONEY LEFT OVER TO PAY MY ELECTRIC BILL. THE CLUB CAN’T EVEN HANDLE ME RIGHT NOW.” It was amazing. It’s funny what actually having money can do for a person. Like, it can pay for things. Incredible.

What else? Life’s been busy. I’ve hardly had time to warm up the permanent indent my ass made on my couch the last four months. I didn’t think I’d miss that place on my couch. I DO. I MISS IT. Although not as much as I love having a job and money and magical coworkers and things. But close.

On Monday I began the official Round Two of 50-miler training. May 12th. It’s happening again. I was worried at first to admit to my mom that I was running another 50-mile race, what with how she all but threatened to disown me when I brought it up the first time a year ago. And then she said:

“Yay!!”

And then I died. Say what? Did she just “yay!!” me? My mother, she of Please Stop Running So Much Because You’re Going to Die beliefs, went all “yay!!” on me, and now I don’t know anything any more, including my own name and if the earth is round.  I dare say the joy of my epic day in September actually got to her. She LIKES it. SHE HAS A PROUD.

So, needless to say, it’s significantly more fun this time knowing my parents don’t want to give be a lobotomy. Also they bought me new trail shoes for my birthday. Suckers. I totally won them over with my wit and charm.

So that’s life as of late. What say you, intertubes?

Edited: February 15th, 2012

Thirty, flirty and thriving.

If the weekend of my thirtieth birthday is any indication of what my thirties will be like, OH MY GOD. There are possibly better words for all the happiness that is floating adrift in my body, but they don’t exist yet. MY HAPPINESS IS SO PROGRESSIVE, YOU GUYS.

Also. I completed my very first week at my very new job. You know that feeling when you get dumped by a guy, and you’re very sad and very down on yourself because WHY? And then you find a new guy who values you, respects you, appreciates you, has time for you, is excited to have you, and basically isn’t an asshole? IT’S LIKE THAT. Just like that. In one week I feel more welcomed, more valued, more useful and more at ease than I felt in the year and a half prior. So this is what it’s like to have found the right fit, huh? This is that magical feeling everyone talks about. I’m excited for what’s to come, and have so far very much enjoyed what I’ve been doing. Plus they keep Dunkin’ Donuts coffee on hand, and you guys, that stuff is amazing.

There are SO many fun things to discuss about this weekend, like the 31-mile trail race I ran with my bestest good friends on Saturday for my birthday, and the tattoo I got drilled into my ribs this afternoon, but I just don’t have the patience to let it all flow from my fingertips just yet. So I shall provide you with photos for now, and that will have to do.

And to everyone who helped make the beginning of this new decade the greatest beginning to date: L-O-V-E.

Edited: February 5th, 2012