A few family members asked me, "What the heck is a crunchy-con?" I guess they want to make sure I'm not too "out there." The term crunchy-con stands for "crunchy-conservative." One sign that I belong to this tribe is I plan to vote for President George W. Bush again, and one of my body washes in our shower caddy is "Peaceful Patchouli" with a big, pink peace sign right smack on the label. Another sign is my affinity for socks and Birkenstocks and my cravings for granola swimming in organic skim milk. Yet other indications are listed in the following two articles that I came across with a Google search:

One of these articles contains an internal link to writing by Peter Kreeft from the lovely publication "First Things." I highly recommend Kreeft's article. (I should also mention that after reading the first two articles I said aloud, "My people!")

I'm pooped. I was a good girl and went to the gym; I sweated on the Pre-Cor along to the latest Paste magazine music sampler. Now I'm relaxing with pine incense, a rumbling dryer full of clean clothes, and a glass of red wine. Johnny is playing his drums in College Station, TX. My book and bed are calling me. Goodnight.

{I played this oldie but goodie in my car today: Fleetwood Mac ~ Rumours}

{Hygiene product of the day: Origins' Night-a-mins facial cream - smells like orange, neroli, vanilla, and valerian. Of course, I could only afford it due to a kind, past wedding gift card.}

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