Ask Joy the Baker
It seems like I’ve been exactly everywhere but my own kitchen this past week. My oven is lonely and my kitten is pissed.
Let’s play a game. I need your company with all of this airport time I’ve got on my hands.
Let’s play Ask Joy the Baker.
You leave a comment asking me dang near whatever you like. I’ll respond to your question right there in the comment section. Boom. Instant gratification.
Go on…. ask me why I’m eating Chicharrones in Tracy’s parents’ guest bedroom at midnight. Ask me if the boy I’m dating has longer hair than I do. Ask me if I think you should move to Los Angeles. Ask me what the capital of South Dakota is. Ask me what Washington’s state bird is. Ask me if I’ve ever met a clown. Ask me why George Clooney has never asked me out on a date. Ask me why I could watch Sean Connery in The Rock on a constant loop for seven weeks straight. Or… ask me about cookies. Whatever.
Answers may sometimes be limited to statements like “huh!?” “no” “duh” or “let me google that for you”.