She hasn't lived there since she graduated from high school, but my mom still subscribes to her hometown newspaper. I get a real kick out of reading the police report column. I've got a sneaking suspicion you'll understand why after reading this gem of a clipping, (sort of) hot off the press from Merkel, Texas...

(My kitchen table could pass for a kindergarten craft room).

To cap off Cookie Week (so dubbed two minutes ago when it hit me that I've spent a lot of time in my kitchen with my buddies flour, butter & sugar)... Pierre Herme's Chocolate Sables, tweaked by me to taste identical to (if not better than) Thin Mints. Like dancing-around-your kitchen-after-the-first-bite good.

Yo Girl Scouts, you're really cute and all. But your overpriced (albeit addicting) cookies? Who needs 'em?

Cherry blossoms are here. And they're putting a huge smile on my face today.

I can make normal cookies too, you know. Not a pork product in sight. Pinky promise. Now someone solve this mystery for me... how did Snickerdoodles get their name?

To the neighbors down below or directly above that tattled on me for making "too much noise" "well past normal hours" -

Some of us don't have the luxury of getting home from work before sunset and accomplishing all of the day's tasks before the evening news. The "running water sounds around 2 AM" you hear? That's me taking a shower after a long night at work. Also to be noted: I live by myself and the only guy I'd be making out with lives six states away, so if there's a ruckus going on up here, it's not the kind you're thinking. Sorry I'm not sorry for running my dishwasher while you're trying to sleep. Your washing machine sounds like gorillas humping and wakes me up earlier than I'd prefer on a regular basis. And sometimes when I leave my balcony door open, your nasty cig smoke wafts in. Talk about unpleasant.

I've never met you. I wouldn't even know you if I passed you on the stairs. If I start throwing raging parties at 3 AM on a school night or decide to adopt a gang of rambunctious zoo animals in the coming months, you have my full permission to call apartment management and whine and kick and scream until you are blue in the face. Shoot, you can personally escort me out the door as I get evicted for violating my lease. But until then, I beg you kindly... simma down now.

It wasn't ushered in at the Disch,

kettle corn in hand... but it is finally here.

My favorite season of the year.

I had strep throat. It hurt. I ached. I shivered. I was stuck in bed for two days, bored out of my mind.

But now I'm feeling pretty normal. And my appetite is back. And it's screaming gimme chocolate chip cookies!!

So I listened. And then I upped the ante.

You traditionalists won't like it one bit. I guarantee that. What I've gone and done might be a tad polarizing... a smidge shocking. Some will scoff. Some will shake their heads in confusion. Some might receive a text from their little brother asking is that even legal? (It is, Lance. I checked).

Now that you know we're operating well within the bounds of the law... Take one bite (or maybe two) of these suckers and I dare you to tell me your whole world has not been shaken to its very core, flipped upside down and rightside up again.

The secret ingredient? Bacon. Slow-cooked in brown sugar. Chopped into savory bits. Mixed with semi-sweet chocolate chunks. Baked into a cookie.

HOW can that be bad? Really, how?

A few más. Because I take pictures of everything. E-v-e-r-y-thing.

Found my furry soulmate at Town Lake Animal Shelter. Then pouted like a child when told it was absolutely not feasible to fly him back to NC. (Someone give him a good home. Kennel #111).

Kitters. To whom I'm entirely insignificant until I'm shaking a cup of kibble. (Deep down, she knows I'm a dog person).

Is this real life?

Reunions.

You know what's cool? S'mores. You know what's cooler? Tableside s'mores. (Pyromaniacs rejoice!)

And a cocktail at Péché.

I don't drink absinthe (their specialty) but the 321 was tops.

(Picnic with my Valentine).

(Bliss is South Congress on a Sunday afternoon).