Author Archives: anotherintro

About anotherintro

Jane-Rebecca Cannarella is an editor at HOOT Review, a cat lady, and a Nutella enthusiast. When not poorly playing the piano, she chronicles the many ways that she embarrasses herself at the website She occasionally drinks wine out of a mug that has a smug poodle on it, and she’s not great at writing in the third person.

Return of the Mac

You [sic] Life is Not So Great came from the chaos of the internet twelve years ago. The way back of our online lives during that time was populated by blogs documenting the very best of beautiful existence. Curated clothes, crafts, families. It was the initial glossy cultivation of gorgeous realities. This would eventually give way to influencers, and algorithms, and curation of takes in pithy characters.

Those blogs, and what they evolved into, were and always have been fine. And aspirational.

I did not lead an aspirational life, but I had a desire to carve out a place on the web for my sad, fucked-up existence. The terrible jobs, the horrendous apartments, the pitiful meals, and the laissez-faire attitude toward my health, safety, and reputation. I have always had a deep and somewhat pitiful need to be witnessed and seen for who I am in whatever moment throughout the years. A brash and unruly (and obnoxious) teenager on Livejournal. A chaotic and depreciating young woman in my twenties on MySpace and Facebook. And, eventually, a threadbare blanket unraveling on a blog that was meant to be the antithesis of the ones popular over a decade ago.

Those blogs were informative, well-meaning, and money-generating. You Life was (and is) low-budget and sarcastic. Something about the ruthlessness of exhibition, and the humor in poor choices and unfortunate circumstances fed me and this blog for longer than even the original stream of blogs existed.

I pay for the url yearly even though I basically stopped writing in here ages ago. So, what am I doing keeping this?

Even during the absolute shittiest moments, You Life was a joyful outlet. After the MFA, the publications, and a handful of small press collections, the place that still brought me the most happiness in my writing life was right here. Even if I was documenting how I used my refrigerator for a garbage (for almost two years…eek, what a monument to mental illness), the writing nourished me. So, You Life remained.

With that longing in mind, I think I am going to start writing in this bizarre relic of the World Wide Web that I continue to pay for, year after year. I don’t know what I’ll write about, or how often, but the desire to reconnect to the enthusiasm that came with updating is stronger than the feelings of silliness about the vanity of self-exposure. It’s not even really like people read blogs that much anymore, which makes me feel safe about the cringey credo I’m penning right now. I still have a lot of VERY strong feelings about ravioli, and cooking, and cats, and essays to write about candy corn and the confusion that comes with watching only reality television for a month without stopping.

I’m going to take a nap while watching Fraiser. And then make a calendar of what to post. And I *might* even stick to that resolve and the timeline. And if it makes anyone feel better, I still have the leftovers of a lasagna I made from the Super Bowl (the one that takes place in February) rotting in the back of my fridge as I type this.

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The LoD, Candy Corn, and Me

I have been staring at this open window to write something for almost twenty minutes, which is not exactly reflective of my lack of busy schedule but more emblematic of my lack of stuff to write about here.

But, I really want to.  

A depiction of me tending to my busy schedule and also my cat Easy Mac.

I was just talking to two of my friends about wanting to re-explore this space that I’ve owned for something like ten years, and that feels like a pretty intense length of time to have a blog. You Life has been around through the advent, rise, and fall of personal blogs and instead of pulling the plug I continue to pay for this domain year after year. I rarely update this but I always remember really enjoying doing so when I was younger; You Life always gave me the chance to create spontaneously and embrace chaos joyously.

Ostensibly, I’m a writer (or so I’ve been called), and I’ve been extremely lucky to have a number of publications and several of my books published. But, it’s hard to reconcile the fact that some of the greatest enjoyment I’ve had as a writer was before any of those publications while I was writing about how I used my fridge as a trash can for two years on this blog. And I was actually incredibly inspired by my publisher’s personal blog. I watched Josh engage with writing and the world in a unique and unencumbered way that continues to impress me so much, he writes meaningful and wonderful observations. I highly encourage anyone reading this to give his blog a check. It’s excellent and thoughtful and consciously curated with care (meaning it’s emphatically not like You Life). 

It’s freeing to have a space for writing that involves being a trash pest, a mess, a benevolent cat benefactor, and a helpful possum person. The world is exhausted with itself, and I recognize that there is important work to be done both utilizing social media and writing as well as on the ground work, and I’ll continue to do so. I can also see within myself that I’m struggling to find the humor in things. 

I can never escape me and my trash

But, tbh, I need something to do for enjoyment other than scrolling through the Bravo Real Housewives Reddit. 

However, I still don’t entirely know how to functionally use You Life (i.e. writing site, hookup site, self-call out burn book). But while I figure that out here is what I’ve been up to recently during year seven of COVID-19. It’s mostly just wrestling-related stuff.

The Road Warriors: Legion of Doom is my second favorite tag team after the Hart Foundation. I love a blend of 1970s punk rock and the aesthetics of the Mad Max movie franchise. While never a fan of motorcycles or an impending apocalypse, I do love spikes and nods to bondage. Plus, I loved their catchphrase, “what a rush.” What is the rush? What does that mean? Wrestling? Doom? Drugs? the drumming of Neil Ellwood Peart? 

Here are some impressive facts about Hawk and Animal (Michael Hegstrand) and Joseph Laurinaitis) that I never knew. While the gimmick was obviously lifted from Mad Max, did you know that they were the first in professional wrestling to successfully bring a theme from a movie and incorporate it into wrestling? 

Please also enjoy this gem that I lazily read on Wikipedia: 

Under either name, their gimmick was the same – two imposing wrestlers in face paint.

There is beautiful poetry in the simplicity of that statement. Two imposing wrestlers wearing facepaint is how I want to come back to earth. 

Lockdown had me in a bit of a drinking tailspin, which has resulted in a number of fascinating purchases. 

The first of these purchases was the WWE channel. I’ve been a huge HUGE fan of professional wrestling since my childhood. The WWE channel provided me the opportunity to travel through time and back to the happiest aspects of being a little kid and revisit matches I used to love and wrestlers who I’ve always admired. 

One of these events is Survivor Series 1991. Matches that made me lose my shit upon rewatch. I was like a bottle or two of wine deep at the time, but listen this was the Survivor Series where the Undertaker beat Hulk Hogan for the championship and the aftermath of this Survivor Series led to the iconic moment when Shawn Michaels kicked Marty Jannety through a window during Brutus “the Barber” Beefcake’s “Barber Shop.”

Also, the Road Warriors were headliners and I was VERY enamored with them under the glossy gaze of my red wine eyes. 

Inspired by this, I made an alarming purchase, as I discovered the next morning.

I have a relatively healthy collection of WWF Hasboro figures from the 90s. It will never set the world of collectors on fire, but they are treasured remnants from my childhood. I never sought to collect them all, I just got the wrestlers I really liked. 

However, I never had LoD. 

As it turns out, I decided to rectify that absence with a 2 AM EBay purchase. The cost was slightly jarring for toys. But I was doubly alarmed with the cost of these mint though not-in-package figures as a total. And that was because of the cost of shipping. 

Because the LoD were coming to me straight from Barcelona. They were international Road Warriors traveling to the banks of Philadelphia. 

But, I am so grateful for their place in my home and among the thrones of the other tag teams I have. 

LoD reigning above the other tag teams

This happened months before the passing of Road Warrior Animal. I hope LoD is partying in the great beyond; and on land in Pennsylvania, I had the two of them destroy the entirety of the collection of Cannarella tag team action figures. 

If you’ve made it this far, please give me recommendations for other matches to watch that you particularly enjoyed. WWF or WCW, no matter. 

And settle a debate. Candy Corn (my favorite candy): 

That’s it for now until I figure out what I’m doing with this space. My candy corn and I will see ourselves out until next time.

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Apocalypse meals

I keep forgetting that I pay for this site and update it about once a year. Anyway, it’s the apocalypse and the world is absolute shit. As we all continue to descend into the toilet bowl of personal misery, sometimes genius can strike.

And with that in consideration, I’d like to have everyone honor and acknowledge me as one of the most premiere intellects of our time. Because why haven’t we been doing this since the invention of pizza:

Yes, I had it with coffee because this was my breakfast.

Why haven’t we been dipping our pizza into tomato soup always? I get that people will dip crusts in marinara sauce but that feels limiting and embarrassing when getting into the tomato soup game. Besides, I hate a chunk of tomato.

So, it’s the days of shelter, and time and meals are meaningless so likely I’m putting a lot of stock in this creation but I have nothing else going on except rewatching The Hills obsessively. Does anyone want to talk about this show now that I’ve started watching it decades after it’s first episode? Like…maybe if Lauren keeps losing all her friends, the problem might be LC? Someone discuss this with me.

“I want to forgive you and I want to forget you

So, long story short. Dipping your pizza into tomato soup is awesome and I would really like to talk to someone, anyone, about The Hills.

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Dog underpants and a year of longing

I noticed the last time I updated this was a year ago. And so much has been going on that I feel like not updating this is a missed opportunity into the deep insights of my life. Like, for example, all of the purchases that I regret and my newly developed interest in Arby’s.

For example, see this pensive contemplation:

And I stand by that statement with the following:

Welcome back, baby!

In an effort to keep the dream of dreamlessness alive and not waste the money that WordPress charges me per year, please be sure to keep an eye on beloved You Life because I have an entire photo album dedicated to leftover chicken fingers I’ve found in my purse along with a recent fascination with Roy Roger’s “fixin’s bar” at rest stops on the way to the Poconos to share with yinz.

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The many lessons provided by commercials on antenna TV channels

I just want you all to know that I live a very rich life in between drunk dialing Pizza Hut at 10 pm and eating stuffed crusts while I cry myself to sleep. And one part of that richness, is watching bizarre half channels on my old person TV antenna that I purchased for $15 at RadioShack before that closed down. (*)
you life antenna

With all of the marathons of Frasier and The Nanny available daily, I never have to leave the apartment again. I’ve taken to MeTV, thisTV, Antenna TV, and Cozi TV like a fish that doesn’t want to leave the comfort of her home because of social anxiety and laziness. I’ve found a deep love for endless Sundays spent watching In the Heat of the Night and Cagney & Lacey, and the entire block of programming found on Decades (tonight it will include a solid four hour block of the Bob Newart show, which I’ll watch before switching over to Rowan & Martin’s Laugh In and ending the evening watching Dick Cavett be such a card).
dick cavett

The additional benefit of watching antenna TV  – both my antiquated antenna-ness of it all, and the actual programming itself – is the targeted advertising. My television believes that I am a senior between the ages of 65 to question mark. And because of TV’s belief, I have gained so much insight into worlds that were previously closed off to me – particularly the heinous tactics of targeted advertising for that demographic. For example, because of this advertising I now know a lot more about the Shingles virus. Shingles is like unsexy herpes for the elderly but all over their bodies and not just their mouth parts and nasties.

Also, a lot of stuff about Type 2 Diabetes (I don’t know why I’m capitalizing these illnesses and ailments, other than it’s how they’re emphasized on antenna TV). But Type 2 Diabetes isn’t as SWOL as Shingles, so I usually just tune out during those ‘uns. However, it appears that if I get old, according to the medication commercials, I won’t be able to avoid it so Imma put a pin Type 2. Though, according to the numerous pharmaceutical commercials, medication that appears to cost kind of a lot is the only way to manage this.

[I am not putting photos of either examples in here because the image searches made me upset]

One the better targeted marketing campaigns I am regularly exposed to is the gorgeous and resplendent actuality of walk-in tubs. Everyone knows what these jawns are, right? They are, honestly, fucking amazing: they’re therapeutic and safety-providing sit-down bathtubs, which offer comfortable bathing solutions to their owners. [SIDE NOTE: IT’S FUCKING OUTRAGEOUS THAT MEDICARE AND MEDICAID OFTEN DON’T COVER THE COST OF THESE, AND THAT THESE SHOULD BE MORE AFFORDABLE AND ACCESSIBLE FOR THOSE THAT NEED THEM].

There is no reason for me to have a walk-in tub, as the only therapeutic necessity this tub would provide me is the ability to drink my shower beers and wallow in existential dread while Randy Newman’s Baltimore plays outside the tub and I suppurate self-pitying tears on any given Thursday.

Yet, still I crave – selfishly. I want them so much that I regularly Google-search price points, as though I could place one over the claw toothed crumble that sits in my asbestos bathroom where I indulge in being the garbage bathtub witch of your swampy dreams.
tub witch

So much, so, that this arrived in my email the other day:

walk in bathtub you life

Tell me more, plz

And it lead me on a pictorial adventure, which I will share here:

walk in bathtub you life 2

This model was so nice that I actually made a, I’m not even being snarky or insincere, vision board about maybe getting one

walk in bathtub you life 3

They illustrated why these tubs are do damn dope

walk in bathtub you life 5

So, I called for a quote and to see if I could finance one only to  discover that I am not qualified – as per my credit – for the bathtub.

I would like to repeat: these should be a more viable and affordable option for people that actually need them (and not self-indulgent narcissists on the internet).


The sort of wild thing about the marketing on these shows is how manipulative and corrosive they become. The fear tactics and inevitability of the necessity of a lot of these items is super duper rooted in greed feeding upon the guilt and distress of their potential consumer. Because most capitalistic tactics are gross, here is one of the most outrageous examples of marketing on antenna TV:

While I might dodge a diabetes bullet (see earlier in this post), what is unavoidable is death. TV commercials have taught me that. And I would be greatly remiss to not get into the magic and the majesty of a commercial that was so outlandish I couldn’t be sure that I hadn’t hallucinated it while horking on a swisher. It’s called, “I’m dead now what,”

i'm dead now what

this is not a still from Beetlejuice

and it’s all about an end-of-life binder and it’s hosted by fucking Anson Williams (Potsie of Happy Days).


Do you have a minute to talk to this guy about the inevitable unrelenting cruelty of the ever-mowing scythe? Get ready.

A wikipedia hole and an entire day after watching the above, I learned that death binders are not a modern concept created by Potsie and affiliates. This metal as fuck model has been around for hella time. It actually has a couple of different names (the concept not the aforementioned specific product): the everything binder, the family emergency binder, the legacy binder. Essentially, it’s a three-hole trapperkeeper (like you carried in grade school if you’re old as hell like me, only with less Lisa Frank designs…or the same, you be you) that carries all relevant information regarding how you’d like your loved ones to handle your funeral and end-of-life plans.


This is the one that I own and had no idea it could be so multi-faceted

The larger, and honestly pretty good idea, is that if you’re well prepared for your own death it will eliminate the stress your family and loved ones will face upon your expiration. Like step-by-step financial guides and what music should be played while you’re getting jettisoned into the ether.

I even found a “Create Your Own Death Binder,” website that I entertained for a day before that started to get realllllll weird and reallllllll irrelevant since I have no finances to take care of and all my friends know my final wishes: that Naughty by Nature’s “Jamboree” is played at my funeral.


Featuring Zhane. Also, this is 100% true and I’ve had that plan for my funeral set-up in a will since I was 23.

Back to Anson Williams and “I’m dead now what,” which is backed by easily the strangest spokesperson that if someone said this was a play written by Mamet, I’d be, like, “Oh yeah, that checks out and makes a lot more sense than this bizarre reality.”

The main pitch is, “The peace of mind planner created to protect your family’s future,” and it’s only $19.99 plus bonus internet address (don’t know what that means) and password log book. I want to draw your attention back to the fact that it is twenty bucks for a binder and, what I think is, an online chat room.

All of this is sort of supplemental to the marketing of this product (matter-of-fact, this whole post, is in fact to one degree or another about the predatory nature of marketing and how advertisers manipulate people who watch these programs, only it’s far more insidious on television that’s entirely free). Because when doing research on the above product, I found this real crowd pleaser: the marketer of this folder commercial hosted by an actor who clearly had to face himself in the mirror and say, “they picked me because of the fragility of my future mortality,” is that Top Dog (yes, that’s the marketer’s name) is not afraid to really diversify their portfolio, as “I’m dead now what?” is only one of the very ambitious products they market. They also market problem solvers called BeActive, inappropriate and insane novelties called Tiny Tyrants (it’s doll versions of dictators in case you want to feel really fucked up and gross about yourself), Catholic memorabilia (Visitation Cross), and – of course – sex toys: One Massager.

Which leads me to wonder, what kind of television channels do I need to see those commercials? Because I’m interested.


  *  A quick internet search just actually confirmed that RadioShack has not entirely closed its electronic sliding doors – just the one in West Philadelphia. I know nothing, Jon Snow.
you know nothing jon snow


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This will be the elegy read at my funeral

As it perfectly sums up a life Janie-lived:

you life butter cake

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Alternate life boy-me is living the dream

Lol. No. Not at all. Boy-me’s life doesn’t seem so great either.

So my email address, which I will not leave here, is just my first initial and my last name. Most days I will receive emails addressed to “Joseph [my name last name, presumably also his].”

And goddamn. It appears that Joseph’s life is also particularly You Life-y.

Here are some samples of what I receive on Joseph’s behalf:

you life - joseph me 3

He’s in credit card debt. I called this credit card company to ensure that someone didn’t steal my identity (and also to ensure the credit card company that if someone did – I’m already in credit card debt and that I was the wrong mark). They assured me that Joseph is taking care of it. Good job, Joe!

you life - joseph me 2

He’s also in crushing student loan debt! Fuck yeahhhhhhh, buddy. Me too. Go us on taking the gamble on higher education in the face of what is basically high interest loans distributed to teenagers.

you life - joseph me

He drives a 1998 Isuzu Hombre – a car that I’ve never ever heard of. But some engine or whatever the fuck is inside cars looks like a smiley faced character from a Pixar movie!

you life - joseph me 4
Goddamn. That thing is fucking cute.

Other things I’ve received on behalf of Joseph:

  • Canceled airline ticket emails from Spirit airlines
  • Email warnings about manufacturer recalls because something he bought is fucked
  • A furious email from his ex (God, I really wished I saved that one but it was from like 7 years ago and I wanted to mature. But fun side note, I used to use pieces of that vitriolic hate email from his ex to emotionally destroy other people – my favorite being, “drink gasoline and then light a goddamn match.” IT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE BUT IT’S SO FUCKING MEAN)


So Joseph [my last name], it’s good to know that the combination of our first initial and last name has generated a better understanding about what it’s like to be us – deeply in debt with terrible methods of transportation and exes that profoundly hate us.

Free to be you and me!
you life

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Games for the lackluster depressive – and other computers for humans

All of my favorite games are ones available as free demos on PCs from the early to mid 90s. Like, if my parents truly loved me and bought me a version of Dinosaur Tycoon circa 1993 – the game available at the computer lab in my grammar school – that would probably reign supreme as most favorite game, but they didn’t. (to be fair [TBF] my dad did buy me a copy of Mortal Kombat 3 for the PC, which I was obsessed with but never totally got a solid grasp on the combat codes for the keyboard which means I could just kind of wander around the screen as Sonya Blade – who I still have a crush on. Like…a big crush on).
I digress.

Hold on – I found an image of the aforementioned dinosaur game, which I guess was actually called DinoPark Tycoon and now my childhood memories are in a tailspin because 1. I never got the name right, which means that I NEVER spelled it right when requesting it on my Christmas lists and 2. I really wanna play this jawn now.


Okay, back to my main point, I really love/d demo games for the PC. I dominated the demo games. I attribute that domination to months of boredom and a lack of shame for not realizing that to land safely in the first frame of Prince of Persia you had to dangle from the fucking lip of the pit to get onto the concrete below instead of just hurtling oneself down time and time and time again until accidentally your little prince dangles and you drop safely.

You don’t even want to KNOW how long figuring out the spike situation took me.

I actually know nothing about the rest of that ^ game, because my family never advanced beyond free demos during the early days of computers. And because of that I always thought that computer games ended in a black screen with me winning because you could no longer advance.

Like…I thought Prince of Persia was done once you defeated the very first boss, and to get to that boss it took me well over a year.

There were other iterations of demo games in the early to mids: frogger, and…something else, I don’t remember.

But time goes on, and eventually my family came to embrace the PC games of the day: Myst, Where in the World (or USA) is Carmen San Diego?, the aforementioned Mortal Kombat 3. And then demo games just ended up living fondly in my memory.


Until I got an Acer laptop circa 2009, and bless that sweet marvelous. It came with hella demo games.

There was an Agatha Christie-like mystery game
And numerous puzzle games
A first person shooter game
Something having to do with making cakes

A cornucopia of games. I felt like Don Draper getting to choose from my pick of honeys.

JK. I never feel like Don Draper, I’m just watching Mad Men while I write this.

But the shitty thing about these demos is that once you finished the demo’ed version once, you could never play it again unless you purchase said game. And since this computer is ancient by modern computer standards, these games are essentially just dust in the machine.

What. The. Horsey. Sauce.


It’s been years since I scrolled through the archives of the Acer demo games, only to find one, recently, that I never played.

So I started to play it. Only to discover (pretty quickly) that maybe this game was a little less magical than one would hope for in a diversion. As it had such exciting options as:
* seeing your crop turn to ash during a brutal winter
* bargaining with your neighbor for scant food supplies
* trying to barter with a town market to take the yield from your crops and having to settle for less than what they’re worth
* and such real life excitement, as:
photo (1)

So just as quickly, I stopped playing this game because the above co-pay is even more expensive than my actual one.

I’ll tell you what, Health Care Depression (or whatever this game is called) is way less fun than trying to jump over spikes for six months only to find some dude with a sword waiting for you once you finally figure it out. Particularly, when I have to ask myself eerie questions, like: “do I have enough money to satisfy this medical appointment?” (I didn’t).

So, I downloaded this ol’ jawner today instead of continuing with the evil demo reflection of, these, our miserable modern times.

Especially, when I can finally re-play a game where certain blocks of cement open up cage partitions instead.

Fuck a spike death.


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Working on my brand

I guess that’s a phrase that teenagers and social media savvy adults say. And, presumably, your brand is sort of like your online identity that is superior to your real identity and you can use that brand to sell shit to people who think you’re actually a real human. That’s it, right?

Anyway, as it turns out, without having actually worked on it I already have a brand. And unintentionally I’ve been developing it continuously and recklessly for, like, my whole adult life.

For example:
on brand - you life.JPG

My phone is so cracked that I can barely see anything on it. It’s like a little deconstructionist phone.

And the photo that potentially exemplifies me as a person the most:
you life brand

In case you were wondering – that’s my diploma being used as a coaster for my Mickey’s. Also…my coffee table. Complete with a coffee cup filled with the crust of coffee from I don’t actually know how long ago.

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Whatever it takes Or how my heart breaks I will be right here waiting for you

The thing I like the best about You Life is how aggressively I can neglect it, and yet whenever I need You Life it’s always right there waiting for me. Like a Richard Marx song. I don’t know what this says about me, but I think it’s bad: both the deep appreciation of how much I adore the opportunity to neglect that which I love, and my knowledge of Richard Marx songs. (I could sing all the hits).

you life richard marx

Along with my love of soft rock, which is no secret, it’s also no secret that I eat like a candy beast human landfill teeming with cookies and cream hazelnut spread (by Jif) .

you life collage

I’m real gross. A few weeks ago, I texted my best friend letting him know that I had to pause over whether or not I was going to eat a chocolate glazed doughnut off of brick retaining wall near a car dealership. And this is not the first time I’ve had to ask for guidance about finding sweets on the ground

you life starburst

Considering my garbage status of trash human, it didn’t totally surprise me that someone (WHO HAS YET TO COME FORWARD AND WILL NOT OWN THIS) signed me up for Diabetes Self-Management. At first I thought this was weirdly accurate SPAM. But after further investigation this appears to be some sort of email blast that you have to sign up for which provides healthy eating tips and recipes. Either in an act of self-care I signed up for this while black out drunk (not impossible), or someone signed this up for me out of concern (less likely), or someone signed me up for this as a hilarious response to my terrible eating habits (most likely).

you life diabetes

Along with my love of food that is mostly comprised of a triumph of food chemistry and the sugar industry, I am fucking WILD about salt. Ohhhhhhhhh motherfucker. I keep salt with me everywhere. I carry salt packets in my purse, and whenever I check anything that has a pocket there will be salt packets in there too, and I keep an individual canister of Morton’s salt at my desk at work.

you life salt

As a result, I am unsurprised that along with a specter signing me up for diabetes care newsletters that salt has taken a more aggressive stance in my life and has started to email me directly. From now on, I look forward to continuing this correspondence with Salt.

salt you life 2


Welcome Salt, join my inbox with the emails about my impending diabetes and how to manage it and my desk with a canister of you at the ready. It’s nice to take our relationship to the next level. And I look forward to being able to adore you and neglect you – just like I do to You Life and soft rock. My whole heart, mi amore.


Filed under cooking, emails, food, music