Remember how I used to cook things for dinner, and then I would come write about it on the internet, and we would chat? Yeah, me neither.

But I went and took a look at the archives, and apparently I used to do that ALL THE TIME. Like, I would go multiple consecutive days with nary a food deliveryperson appearing on my doorstep, and I would frequently consume things called “vegetables,” where “vegetables” means something other than “French fries.”

Oh, the halcyon days before I decided to voluntarily engage in a real estate transaction.

You are perhaps confused, and certainly bereft. I will sum up:

  • We decided to sell our condo. Yay!
  • We got a nice real estate agent, and an awesome lawyer. What are the chances?!
  • We got an offer after nine days on the market. Everything’s coming up Milhouse!
  • We signed a contract and leased a sweet-ass new loft. Best summer ever!
  • The buyers hired an illiterate attorney. Uh-oh.
  • The buyers had their inspection and made a series of outrageous demands showing little to no understanding of how a condominium association works or of what they agreed to in the contract they signed. Yipes!
  • I spent a full week teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown because we cannot afford to carry rent AND a mortgage, the buyers are taking their sweet time responding to our offers of compromise and our lawyer thinks they’re going to bail. Sweet mother of Xanax!
  • I come to the conclusion that the buyers and their agent and lawyer are not illiterate or stupid, as previously supposed, but are in fact malicious. Hate!
  • I grind my teeth down into nubbins. Owie!
  • We come to a compromise 36 hours before we are scheduled to move out of the condo. Said “compromise” involves us giving them a concession of several thousand dollars to pay for something THEY ALREADY AGREED TO PAY FOR IN THE FUCKING CONTRACT. FLAMES, FLAMES ON THE SIDE OF MY FACE.
  • The day before we move, I learn that our new landlord owes the building management some money, and the super has been instructed to bar us from entering the building until he settles up. Whee!
  • That gets worked out. We spend all night packing and all morning moving. During the move, I develop nausea, chills and a 102 degree fever. Two hours after the move, I have a job interview. Life is awesome!
  • I sweat and stumble my way through the interview. They invite me back for the next round anyway. I hope it’s not because I promised sexual favors and don’t remember. Fingers crossed!

At NO POINT in the past two weeks have I eaten anything prepared in my own kitchen, unless pouring milk into a bowl of Raisin Bran counts. Thus, you can imagine the exhilaration of having an utterly mundane day: Wake up. Go to work. Go to farmer’s market. Come home to sweet-ass loft. Walk dogs. Make dinner. Watch Olympic swimming trials. Write about my problems on the internet.

Is this heaven?

This is the salmon I had for dinner. I’m not going to write out a recipe, because it’s just a dang piece of salmon. But if you want to re-create this exact plate, you can:

  • Cook up some thick-cut bacon.
  • Saute fresh corn kernels and green cabbage in the bacon fat.
  • Toss the bacon back in.
  • Adjust the seasoning.
  • Sear some salmon in butter.
  • Nestle the cooked fish on a bed of cabbage.
  • Throw another tablespoon or two of butter in the pan and let it brown, then add lemon juice.
  • Pour that over the fish.
  • Consume.

And now I’m going to sleep for a thousand million years.

I’ve missed you, internet strangers!