The winning egg caption is:  This egg picture makes me inexplicably sad by Heather.   I’m pretty sure she didn’t mean it as a caption but it gave me the laughs anyway so thanks, Heather.  Why does it give you the sads?

Winning caption:  Eggroll. Thank you, Deb!

Winning caption:  Another masterpiece by Jackson Pollegg. Thanks Nancy at Coneflower Ranch.

(They’re quail eggs, FYI.)

Winning caption: Egg-xit ahead. Thanks, Laura!

Runner up:  Anybody remember where I parked my chicken? Nice one, Thom!

Per commenter Howard’s suggestion, I’ll let you you guys come up with the daily egg caption. I’m clearly not very good at this! Best captions wins.

Thank you, Heather!

A couple of years ago, I embarked on a mission to eat at least one egg a day for a period of a year.   Each day’s egg creation had to be different and unique — there could be no repeats of recipes, even if it meant dusting a hard boiled egg with cumin instead of salt.  Pathetic, I know, but this is what happens when a woman desperately needs a real job.  And then I found out I was pregnant and the sight of eggs gave me the pukes so I abandoned the project.  I think I made it a total of 30 something days.  Big whoop.

But now that Jake is gone, I don’t really cook anymore, and my hens are still dropping up to 15 eggs a day.  I find that I really do eat at least an egg a day — but more like two to five — and have been for quite some time. So I figured I may as well pick up the project again as sort of a regular “column” for the blog. Only this time the rules are going to be a little less stringent as I found myself agonizing over egg recipes during vacation last time around.

Egg A Day will be just that: An egg a day. I don’t know what form it will take. I don’t know how long the experiment will last.  Could end Friday. My aim is to make it part eating adventure, part art installation, part “how can I torture my daughter today?”, part Where’s Waldo the Egg in This Picture?  (Clearly someone still needs a real job.)

There’s another reason I’m launching this experiment now.  I have a book due in five weeks….my first “real” book, and I’m petrified of blowing it bigtime so I’m going to try to scale back the blogging just a little tiny bit until the end of May.  I figure posting pictures of eggs will keep loyal readers absolutely riveted until then.  And, yes, they clearly need real jobs too.

I’m going to go ahead and knock wood as I write this, but I think, I THINK, I’m finally — after two and a half long and mournful years — coming out of my personal recession that rendered me flat broke with a serious amount of gray hairs sprouting from my roots because I could never afford things like personal grooming.  Thankfully, my work horse husband has been able to keep this little family afloat since the halcyon days of 2008.  Thank you, honey!

But with destruction comes creation (it’s actually an economic concept called Creative Destruction which you can learn more about by reading this book). I managed to sell two books during those dark days; I can once again pay my bills.  There was even a little left over for some fancy new gay bedding (scroll down to check it out).

Something else miraculous happened to me during that period.  I realized how much crap I can go without. I realized I don’t really NEED-need, well, anything except my homemade seltzer water, books, eggs, Netflix, food, wine, workout clothes and a monthly lip wax/hair trim.  That is me, distilled to my very essence.

I don’t even need new clothes.  Which is a funny thing for someone with three pairs of Prada shoes to say (which I haven’t worn, by the way, since moving down here) This is partly because I live in a town where hideous black Dansk clogs and fleece leisure pants count as high fashion, and partly because I spend most days alone staring into the vortex of my square headed lover (my ‘puter), but  also because I have realized — here it comes, a deep thought — that stuff doesn’t matter to me anymore! I don’t much care if I’m wearing the latest H&M cuddledud or my clothes come from Contempo Casual!  All I need is a good hard boiled egg and a shorn lip, and this bitch is happy.

Geez, I’m getting old.

Which brings me to Goodwill. The other day I was digging frantically through my drawers searching for a pair of shorts that DON’T look like they could be worn to an REO Speedwagon concert circa 1987.  You know the kind I’m talking about — high waisted, faded, roomy through the legs, with book size back packets that ride really, really close to the elastic waistband? Yeah, those.  I could not, in good conscious, allow my daughter to see me dressed like that, so we hopped in the car, whizzed over to Goodwill and I bought three “new” pairs of shorts — all designed in the mid- to late-aughts —  for $6.

They’re cute, they’re “on-trend,” and if this continues, I’ll probably be squirreling  packets of ketchup into my purse at restaurants.

Three things the recession taught me:

Walmart’s “Crisp Rice” cereal is not, in fact, just for chickens.

Bojangles and Milwaukee’s Best:   A  meal fit for queens.

(My mom actually taught me this one) There’s a lot of alcohol still hiding in the “empty” bladder of boxed wine.  It’s up to me to get it out.