I went to Outsidelands this weekend, and now I must eat kale for five weeks to atone. Do you see this?

This is bacon in a cup. It’s from a local restaurant called Straw, which specializes in carnival food. The bacon is resting on an unctuous swirl of peanut butter and chocolate syrup. You’re supposed to mix it up like so:

And then you ingest it. I’m pretty sure it looks like that inside your body for months to come. Delicious, I mean. It’s like some gourmet version of the power-goo triathletes eat just before they have heart attacks.

This is a pork sandwich from Maverick. I asked for one with extra pork and a side of shirtless-man torso.

Then, just to keep things kosher, I had some oysters and a glass of Pinot Grigio. As I was eating these, I thought, “Am I seriously eating raw oysters at an outdoor music festival in August? This seems ill advised.” But I suffered no ill effects. Beyond the extra ten pounds, I mean. Worth it.

The rest of what I ate is up on Foodspotting. Also, there were some bands.

Erin and I took an accidental four-hour siesta, woke up starving (with long Rip Van Winkle beards), and headed out for pasta just before the restaurant closed. We went for cocktails afterward, and ran into a bunch of roommates celebrating their friend’s thirtieth birthday. They had ice cream cone cupcakes. Score.

Erin and I spent an evening going through my closet figuring out what to sell at the Photojojo stoop sale. We were up until 2 a.m., then got up pretty early the next morning for the Saturday sale, only to discover that the sale was actually on Sunday. Wah-waaaaah.

I didn’t take any photos of the actual purge, so this is an excellent opportunity to tell you about a slightly OCD style trick I have. When I’m wearing something I like, I take a photo with my phone. That way I can look up a cute outfit on the quick when I’m feeling indecisive.

I also do it when I’m packing, so I have a record in my phone of how I intended to wear everything. That’s why my room looks like it’s been ransacked by the Secret Service. (Ed note: Most of the guys in the Secret Service are loose and kind of nosy, so it’s possible the U.S. government is indirectly responsible for the disarray in one or more of these photos. Also, if anyone finds me in Pakistan later, I was just hiking. I got lost.)

And before you even ask, yes. Everything interesting came from thrift stores. I’m starting to do that just to piss you off. I mean… to inspire you.

My smoke alarm keeps beeping.

BEEP!

BEEP!

BEEP!

I change the batteries and it’s good for a few days before it starts chirping again.

BEEP!

BEEP!

BEEP!

How many times should I replace the batteries before I just take it down? And drop kick it against the wall? And scream at it in short, repetitive bursts?

I think three.

We had some chocolate at the Ferry Building. Then we had a chocolate sample. Then we went to find more chocolate.

Hank asked why the crabs weren’t moving. Hm. I told him we’d ask the Internet.

Erin crashed with me for a few days while she was in town for a conference, so we stopped by the coffee shop for breakfast and ran into a pod of bloggers.

Lynn, from Satsuma Press, lives in Oregon. I didn’t recognize her until she introduced herself, though I’ve written countless thank you notes on her stationery. I felt so affectionate when I realized who she was, like we had all that gratitude in common.

Rena recently sold Rare Device, and now she consults with entrepreneurs, especially small business owners. She’s one of my favorite thinkers, and I feel lucky every time I run into her in the neighborhood.

Lynn was staying with Heidi, who I’d met somewhere before, but neither of us could figure out exactly where. Mutual friends, fill us in.

Together, we took over the communal table and edged out some poor guy reading on his Kindle. But we all know how I feel about that guy anyway.

If I were a guy, I like to think I’d own a pair of black shoes, a pair of brown shoes, and some sneakers. Maybe some driving loafers, if I was Jay Gatsby or something. The truth is, I’d probably be one of those guys with a website devoted to his kicks.

Anyway, these classic handmade shoes for men are by Guido Mocasines in Argentina. I bet they smell good.

I finally got to introduce Holly and Maile. Maile was in town to do some photo shoots, and Holly came over to work, so I showed them my wedding dress, which has been hanging on the back of my bedroom door since the day I got married. I have no idea what to do with it.

Holly: It’s adorable! You have to keep it.
Me: Why in the world would I keep it?
Holly: You’ll wear it again! It’s not fancy.
Maile: Yeah. I don’t think so.
Me: It’s a wedding dress. Where am I going to wear it again?
Maile: Throw on a jean jacket and wear it to the post office!
Holly: Couldn’t you dye it or something?
Me: It has an enormous tulle skirt. I’m thinking eBay.
Maile: You should do one of those style challenges. Who’s that girl who wears the same dress every day?
Me: The Uniform Project! Yes. Genius. “I’ll be wearing my wedding dress every day for a year as an exercise in celibacy.”
Maile: You’re pulling the skirt up over your shoulders. “Look, it’s a cape!”
Holly: Yes. You have to do that.
Me: Done.

Maile was in town for a few days, and I forgot to sleep while she was here. She reminded me how nice it is to have roommates. I hate having to plan my social life, I like to just come home to one.

How about you? Are you playing along at home? How’s your 30-day project coming?

Took full advantage of a flexible work schedule.

We went to a happy baseball birthday party.

We ate peanuts and threw the shells on the ground.

I blinked, and Hank was a four-year-old guy.