bad luck.

this is it.
today is the day.
uh-huh.
the chance for all of that rabbit rabbit stuff to work it's magic.
mmhmmm.
friday the thirteenth.
the big bad bad-to-worse-luck timelapse crap-slap of calamity and woe.
y'know?
yep.
it's a thing,
if you're inclined to believe in those sorts of mundane superstition.
but, remember, thirteen isn't all bad.
for example,
thirteen isn't unlucky if you're a bar mitzah, b!tches.
yup.
and besides,
i like fridays.
and i like valentines.
and i love to eat treats.
so,
how can it be a bad day when i've got these?
neighbors,
check the big action, via teleport:

awwwwwww.
heart-shaped scones?!
cute.
maple cranberry chocolate chip wedges,
all folded over and up and down and again.
seriously,
thirteen flips and flops of the dough,
so those layers got all kinds of activated.
and after i cut the triangles,
i dented 'em all in at the short side,
forming little hardy hearty heart love notes to my taste buds with every bite.
c'mon.
plus those red sugar sprankles,
sweethearted sparkle-magical bloody valentine style,
for extra cupidity and slightly less stupidity this morning.
expert?
oh, yes, friends,
i should certainly say so.
refrigerating the cut-up buttery, creamchee'd flour helped the fats stay
bunched up in the batter, and made this batch of from-scratch hottness
the best ones yet.
consisitency, inside of them, comes from consistently improving my recipe.
yeah!
good enough is not enough.
it's even BETTER that i am aiming to achieve, always.
and that's no joke.
*
vacation wintertime getaway weak-waterbaby asscrackachussetts turds
are en route for a whole week of ruining it.
ruining what, exactly?
everything.
i mean it.
all the best parts of the woodsly goodness are about to be invaded with A*tards.
and as much as i love a thriving economic environment,
the predatory pulse of this vulture culture is downright gross.
really.
the frantic scramble to gulp down every last available casually-cast-aside dollar,
like filthy scatophagic buttkissers, feasting on the bloated still-breathing
bleating carcass of every fat family's corpulent cadaverous indulgences?
yikes.
the whole valley has been abuzz with the promise of an extra buck,
praying for snow to lure the leisure-seeking suckholes up,
so their spare change can be siphoned off into......what?
i'm just sayin',
maybe that's actually considered a cool way to go about your business up here?
i think that might be a real thing.
i can't hang out, though.
real talk.
i'm steady on my grind, every damned day, with or without snow,
or tourists, or friends, or tax returns,
i'm an obvious inaccessible opposite to the composite archetype of mountain people,
but honestly,
the supplicants and the serfs that serve as staff  at most of the shops
up in this mountain valley make me sorta sad.
awwwww.
it's just that desperation isn't attractive,
and perhaps it's just that hard-style hamden, connecticut east coast warrior spirit,
but i appreciate the crappiness dwelling inside my secret inner heart-of-hearts,
and i actually like a little dissonant indifference in my daily indulgences.
no?
don't spit in my food, but don't wipe my butt with your tongue either.
i think that's a pretty fair trade, no?
for serious,
being on vacation doesn't make anyone actually special,
it just makes them somewhere other than where they were.
maybe that's my bad luck, today?
poopheads pooping up my place of business,
and my local haunts with their doo-doo buttery soft styles.
if so,
i guess i'm getting away easy.
there's more of this coming.
all week long.
there's a system in there somewhere,
and i'll decipher it before next sunday;
never quiet, never soft.....