Well after a long hiatus, it’s nice to be back…in the Defenestration vault…strapped to this computer desk … ball and chain attached to my ankle…not allowed to leave…ever. YAY! Eileen promised me cupcakes.

Anyway, it’s that dreadful time of year where we’re all expected to make due on those pesky little New Year’s resolutions. I’m really not sure why we do this to ourselves. In a few weeks, all those guys who said they would have a six-pack by spring will be running their arses to the local 7-11 for a beer run.

I’ve given myself two resolutions this year. I’m going to finish a book week…so far so good–although transitioning from Crapalachia into Below Stairs: The Classic Kitchen Maid’s Memoir is easier said than done. As for the other resolution, I’m going to get another tattoo. This is what I have my heart set on:

It’s mythological, probably really expensive, pretty painful and FOREVER. Plus, if you look closely you can see his penis! OR I could just assign tattoos to writers I like…that could fun as well!

William S. Burroughs

Burroughs’s novel Naked Lunch was a nonsensical epic journey through drug trips, transcending time, space and reality…and technically I didn’t understand a word of it. I tried, I just don’t get it. But then, I don’t understand a single word the Swedish Chef says either. It works.

Anthony Bourdain

Oh, Anthony – you foul mouthed, chain smoking, world traveling foodie. I read Kitchen Confidential and I loved you as a guest judged on Top Chef. You already have some awesome tattoos, but I’ve nominated this as your next!

Emily Bronte

This should be no surprise to anyone–Emily Bronte was Goth. I bet she was using coal ashes for eye liner and brewed her tea with the tears of tormented children. And considering how practically everyone in Wuthering Heights dies miserably, this just seems appropriate. God, I love her.

Eileen Lavelle

Your body is a temple, Eileen. Let me guard it.