Does anyone really call it “the Ham?” I must have picked that up somewhere; I didn’t make that up on the spot. I was going to venture that only really douchey people call it “the Ham,” but then I thought about it and decided no one calls it “the Ham” seriously. No one could possibly say that with a straight face. Did I write “the Ham” enough times? One more time? “The Ham.” Okay, we’re good.
So my weekend in Nashville was fantabulous. If I ever get disillusioned with life in
the Ham Birmingham, Nashville will be a contender when I look for other cities I consider relocate-worthy. Neither Vivian nor I are much of the “going out on the town” type, so our version of enjoying the most out of a city was to eat. A lot. Mucho muncho. I gained maaaybe 20 pounds from baked ziti, brownies, Reese’s cups, sugar cookies, wine, martinis, flatbread pizza, tacos, queso, more wine, ice cream, and one freaking awesome baked goat cheese and tomato dip served with garlic bread…. ugh… I’m beginning to feel nauseated, so maybe it’s too soon to reminisce on everything I ate… but when it was happening it was so worth it.
Now it’s back to the grindstone, the treadmill, the healthy wagon I’m trying to hitch myself to… I’m really beginning to hate that wagon. But whatevs. Happy Monday, people!