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Oy, sorry about the scant postings, all. As we prep for the launch of a new website, this blog is to transform into something healthy—which, let’s face it, means ignoring the beer and goofing off while emphasizing new fitness opportunities and health news and, like, quinoa and stuff.
I think, for starters, we’re going to need a new name. Ideas? I was thinking “Healthy Hannah Hides Her Hops,” but I’m wordy and alliterative.
This new blog chapter is accompanied by new digs—CCB and I have been honorably discharged from our current rental house, and we’re in the process of hunting down a new abode. Interesting insight into the housing market. First off, there’s tons of stuff for sale under $100K, some of it more than half-decent. But there’s scant time for us to arrange a purchase (especially with so many short sales in our sights), and there aren’t as many half-decent rental houses available in the area we need (north Bradenton) for our budget. So it looks like we’ll probably be going apartment/condo.
But these are the kinds of things that won’t make it into the new health blog. These, and things like epic St. Patty’s Day stories, this weekend’s Easter Beer Hunt, and this year’s Kentucky Derby/Cinco de Mayo conflagration of debauch.
Oh yes, I will still eat cheese and I will drink bourbon and I will…well, not go to the Cheetah Club, ‘cause without the nudity and with couples having to pay and all, I think the shine has worn off them apples. But I will pay no cover and watch Cheetah Club Boyfriend dance. And I will play cornhole with the Deelios and Bud Light-toss with Lefty and Captain Beerslinger (and locker room toast beer-to-sippy cup with Sunshine). And we’ll gather ‘round the Applebee’s table with the Harribles and Krazy Kevin, just like we did seven years ago, and reminisce about the good old days—knowing full well these will be the good old days seven years from now, even though, it seems, life does keep getting better.
With the move, Kegtacular will have to change, and Christmas Eve will migrate yet again; we’ll have to lose our garage slap-shot practice and tone down the UFC watching parties. But that just makes room for new kinds of fun. It’s all part of my bull rider’s life philosophy: To stay on the bull, you can’t clamp down; you’ve got to keep moving your feet.
For the time being, we’re making the most of living in squalor, half-packed, stacking boxes and adding to an ever-growing Goodwill pile. On the brink, and same as it ever was.
Track me down sometime and I’ll tell you all about it.