I'm turning 40 and getting a new anthology for my birthday; here's a sneak peek at my food porn erotica

To put it very mildly, I'm dreading turning 40. I know I shouldn't care, I know "age is just a number," I know all those arguments, but inside, I'm kicking and screaming and berating myself for all the things I didn't do in my thirties, all the ways I wasted money and time and emotional energy and possibly my fertility. Aging is real and it's scary and I don't know if you'd call this a mid-life crisis, but I feel like the next few months are ones I want to truly make the most of.

On the bright side, I have a new anthology of BDSM erotica, Dirty Dates, coming out from Cleis Press and the pub date is actually on my birthday. I'm not sure how many more I'll get to edit after this, though I have the biggest one of my life, Best Women's Erotica of the Year Volume 1 (yes, that's its new updated title, though what's inside is still being finalized) coming out in January, so to combat the 40 blues and to celebrate this book, I'm gonna be doing a lot of promotion. Starting, well, right now. Below is a sneak peek at my story, "Admitting It Is The First Step." If you like it, please do me and my book a huge favor and add it to your Goodreads want to read list. It's an interesting time to have this particular book release, because that exciting essay I mentioned previously will explore some of the changes in my personal sex life, and how the kink level has shifted there, but that actually made proofreading these stories even hotter, because they transported me in the most delightful way and I am so excited that this book is almost on bookstore shelves, virtual and brick and mortar.

Yes, Goodreads matters, and if you want to support my work and make it more likely that I'll be offered more books to edit, doing this one small click goes a long way. My goal is to make this book earn out my advance in its first quarter. It's gutsy and ambitious and possibly unlikely, but you know what? This almost 40-year-old is going for it. I love this book and how much passion and daring the authors brought to BDSM, and that I got to work with many authors I never have before, which is one of my missions as an editor. I'll be sharing more excerpts as the publication gets closer, and if you want a free copy to review, sign up of my newsletter on the left-hand side of either this blog or at rachelkramerbussel.com for your chance (if you signed up as one of the early reviewers, you too will get a hot off the press free signed copy!).


If I were more web savvy, I'd draw a red circle around my birthday here.

Here's your sneak peek:

From "Admitting It Is The First Step" by Rachel Kramer Bussel

I don’t even look at the menu, because Ryder has already whispered in my ear what I’m to say. “Two of the extra-large sausages—I like them nice and juicy.” I want to laugh, but I also know that Ryder could put his hand between my legs right now and find out just how seriously I’m taking this. “I can fit a lot in my mouth.” I try to muster a flirtatious tone, and am rewarded with a huge grin from the man, his fingers lingering extra long on mine when I hand over the five dollars. I can’t believe I’ve just said that, but Ryder’s light pinch of my hip lets me know I’ve done a good job.

I smile uncertainly and then go to wait at a table with Ryder. “Sausage is your favorite food, isn’t it, honey?” he asks in a louder tone than normal. “You certainly like mine.”

I hear a chuckle nearby. My cheeks are flaming—I can always tell—but I sit there and let Ryder joke around about my big mouth. When our giant sausages are placed on the table, he makes a show of pushing both to my side. “They’re for her—she’s extra hungry today.” Then he leans across and says, “Make sure they know how much you can take.”

I can be defiant when I want to be, and just to show Ryder, I proceed to make eye contact with an older man sitting at a nearby table and then lick the head of the sausage, before slowly placing the tip in my mouth. I’d eased the bun down so all I am now putting between my lips is the sausage itself, which is delightfully spicy. I close my eyes and make an orgasmic sound as I bite into it in a way that makes juice drip down my chin. “Oops,” I giggle, sticking out my tongue to lick it off. I proceed to thoroughly enjoy each of the sausages, even though they’re so big, one would’ve been fine.

I hear Ryder whisper, “You are making quite a scene, my dear. I hope you’re hungry for my sausage when we get home.” I could swear I hear someone say, “Damn” under his breath at that.

When I’m done, he walks over and grabs me roughly by the hair, then kisses me hard. I’m shaking a little when I stand up. I can’t mistake the whistles and claps I get as I head back into the car.

Intrigued? Add Dirty Dates to your Goodreads want to read list now!

Table of contents and introduction:

Introduction: Kinky Is as Kinky Does
The Corset Dorothy Freed
The Swap Jade A. Waters
Slow Burn Morgan Sierra
The World in My Pants Valerie Alexander
Lying Down Kathleen Delaney-Adams
The Rabbit Trap Nik Havert
Closing Time Elise Hepner
A Thousand Miles Apart Tilly Hunter
Switch Mina Murray
The Birds and the Bees Giselle Renarde
Potluck Alva Rose
Magic Words Emily Bingham
Polka-Dot Dress Erzabet Bishop
Baby Steps Justine Elyot
On Location D. L. King
Well Lit Sara Taylor Woods
A Soundproof Room with a View Leigh Edward Gray
Recipe for Punishment Jacqueline Brocker
Cry to Me Skylar Kade
Needles Kathleen Tudor
Admitting It Is the First Step Rachel Kramer Bussel

Introduction: Kinky Is as Kinky Does

What does it mean to be a “kinky couple”? Does it mean both partners hit the dungeon every night—or have one in their home? Does it mean wearing a collar? Does it mean a 24/7 BDSM lifestyle? Yes, yes, yes—and no. The truth is, like so many aspects of sex, “kinky” is in the eye of the beholder. One half of a couple may be kinkier than the other—in fact, those kinds of stories often yield extremely powerful transformations. If you were to pass some of these couples on the street, you might peg them immediately as a little bit naughty. Others, you’d stroll right by, without any sort of erotic antennae tuning in. Many of them take pains (pun intended) to hide their kink—or exult in the thrill of maybe, possibly—hopefully—getting “found out.”

The thrill here, what makes these dates “dirty” in the best sense, is the tension between tops and bottoms, doms (and plenty of dommes!) and subs, those craving control and those who desire nothing more than giving up control. Actually, there’s a third category of sub, one who teeters on the edge between giving up and exhorting his or her own control. That fine line is teetered upon perfectly in “Switch,” by Mina Murray, when narrator Cass notes: “He smiles, a sly look that does nothing to warm his eyes. That’s when I start to get nervous.” Keeping a sub on edge is all part of the kinky fun, but Murray makes it clear that this dom’s mastery comes from the heart when he tells Cass of her new chains: “‘I had them made especially for you. With padded cuffs, to protect that creamy-soft skin of yours. See how much I love you?’”

These couples act out their kink in many ways—some at play parties, some outdoors, some long distance. Some do it with bondage, spanking, service, a corset, a look, a location—for many, their instrument of choice is words. Emily Bingham takes one extremely charged word in “Magic Words” and lets readers know exactly what the prospect of saying it does to her character: “The shame is a scalding tickle that takes over every cell in my body. Looking down at his lap to hide from his gaze, I feel more embarrassed than in any naked-in-front-of-a-crowd nightmare. It’s the one word I promised myself I would never say, yet he has managed to make even this taboo titillating, something I want to explore with him. I’m annoyed at myself for being so aroused by this lone, little word.”

What is that magic word? You’ll have to keep reading to find out. There’s a sensual beauty to these stories that I believe will speak to those who practice kink in their lives and those who don’t, because in some ways the tenderness, the charge, the power shifting back and forth between partners, transcends kink. It speaks to ideals of worship, wonder, adoration—from both sides. Even the most sadistic men and women whose worlds you’re about to enter clearly value those they are asking to give them their bodies, their minds, their words, their beings. They are living out their most vivid fantasies with the person they most cherish. I hope you enjoy their dreams, fantasies and explorations, and that they inspire your own.

Rachel Kramer Bussel
Red Bank, New Jersey

Food porn for Valentine's Day at BonAppetit.com

Here's my roundup of 12 erotic scenes using food for BonAppetit.com, from a femdom feeding to a kinky artichoke to "wilted" spinach, pomegranates, peanut butter and a very special Dove Bar - I thought it would be gauche to include my work, but I've written about hamburgers, French fries and cupcakes, and am working on a story to submit to More Smut for Chocoholics!


kinky artichokes, anyone?

Lesbian French fry flirting and rock star female dominance in my two new stories

I've got stories in two hot off the press Cleis Press anthologies: "French Fried," my Parisian lesbian French fry flirtation story (Fuck Yeah French Fries indeed!!!) in Best Lesbian Romance 2012, edited by Radclyffe, and "Rock Star Rewards," about a rockstar and her groupie plaything in One Night Only: Erotic Encounters, edited by Violet Blue. Check them out!





A big excerpt (also at PGW, woo-hoo!): Rock Star Rewards
by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Anyone who tells you that fame is the biggest perk of being a rock star is lying; sure, the high of being onstage, the rush of hearing your song on the radio, the fact that I never have to commute on a subway train at eight in the morning again. There’s the fact that I can dye my naturally red hair an even more fiery shade of red/orange/badass and get applauded, not sent to HR. There’s meeting celebrities, even going to the White House once, and travel galore, and knowing that every day I get to see my art not boxed up or hanging on a wall, but alive, being hummed or sung or danced to. I love entertaining people, love being able to take my thoughts and feelings and turn them into a rock song that goes beyond words. But best of all, I love the boys who love me back.

Okay, “love” is overstating the case. I hunger for the boys who lust after me; they’re men, really, but I like to call them boys, even to their faces, and they like it too. They, my groupies, are the biggest perks of the job, by far. The kind of fan a six-foot-one Amazonian tattooed screaming redhead lead singer (of my band Fiery) gets aren’t exactly the type who’ll object to anything. I once had a boy come backstage and told him I wanted my own personal tattooer to put my name on his ass. No sooner had I said it than this sweet young thing dropped his pants! Even I don’t have an on-call tattooer, and I wouldn’t have gone through with it anyway; I just wanted to see what he would do.

We tour about ten months of the year; I’ve chosen bandmates who like the itinerant lifestyle as much as I do. Two of them, Steffy and Craig, are actually in committed relationships, while Benny is like me, the kind of guy who just goes with the flow. We’re in a city one night, maybe two, and we don’t form attachments, except to each other. We’re not lovers, though we have been known to take a tumble on the rare night when there just aren’t any groupies to our liking or we want a warm body to curl up next to far from home. Usually, though, what happens is something like what happened tonight. Our gigs usually end around midnight, and then the real show starts. Sometimes while I’m onstage, I’ll roam my eyes over the audience, try to pick out a boy who just looks like he’d be the perfect fuck. You might think that I’m not discriminating, but that’s far from true. I have standards, especially because this guy’s only gonna get one shot to perform. You don’t want someone so insecure or uncertain that he shoots too soon or can’t get it up. I want a guy who’s turned on by my power, but not so turned on that he can’t access his own, if fucking is on my agenda.

If I do spot a candidate, I’ll have our roadie, Genius (his nickname for himself, but one that, with his voluminous store of random knowledge, we’ve had to concede is pretty accurate), go pull the guy aside, give him a backstage pass. Does that sound sleazy? Well, so be it. Nobody’s complaining. I look for boys who I can toss around my hotel room, who I can pick up, throw across the bed, maybe take over my lap and spank. You work up a lot of adrenaline, not to mention aggression, when you’re onstage, and even playing the shit out of my beloved electric guitar isn’t always enough to get it all out of me. Besides, the guitar won’t fuck me back. These boys will.

Sometimes I think I should’ve been born a guy; I’m told I talk like one, cuss like one, and even fuck like one, but I don’t wish I were a guy. I like being a loudmouthed, smartass wild girl. I like being unpredictable, and I love having a new specimen of manhood to play with every night.

There is a magic to getting to start over, to have a human body at your fingertips, waiting to be explored. Tonight, it was Jacob. He was twenty-five, but looked a few years younger. He had black stubble set against his pale skin, and was wearing a slightly worse for wear t-shirt of ours from five years go, along with black jeans that had seen better days, and black and silver sneakers. I cared more about the look on his face than the look of his clothes, and what I saw when Jacob stood before me was pure adoration, like he was ready to worship me in every way. He already was, in a sense, as I flung myself all over the stage, flitting my eyes back to him on occasion. He clearly hadn’t brought a girl to the show, and his eyes seemed to bore into me.

If I were looking for a soul mate, I, like other women, might have a whole checklist of things I wanted to know: job, pedigree, hobbies. But since all I wanted was some fun for the one night I was in town, a way to let off steam, to keep on seeing that worshipful face after I’d gotten off the stage, I didn’t care about all that. What I cared about was how looking at Jacob made me feel: sexy, hot, invincible. During sex, I like to feel the way I do onstage, like the ruler of my own mini-universe. When I winked at Jacob, I saw the small gesture make its way through him; he knew what it meant, he knew what I wanted. After so long in this business, I can spot my special submissives easily.

There was no band t-shirt that said, “I want to be ordered around and made to lick a powerful woman’s pussy.” There was no hairstyle that could convey, “My dick gets hard when a hot woman growls at me.” It wasn’t a fashion statement, for me or for them, but somehow, we found each other. Powered by the adrenaline rush of knowing I’d have a boy to test out the new red suede flogger I’d picked up at a sex shop that afternoon, I blazed my way through the set list and even added two songs to the encore.

“Hot damn!” Genius greeted us as we left the stage. “Someone’s got a fan.” He was onto me; he was always onto me, and not just because I’d pointed out Jacob earlier. Genius could spot these guys a mile away, too, and sometimes I was kind enough to let him play with the ones I didn’t want, if they swung that way. He knew, though, that my music was powered by sexual desire, and that I was hungry to continue that flow of energy.

“Should I go get him for you?” The others just looked at us and rolled their eyes. They didn’t quite share our groupie-spotting vision.

“Nah, make him wait a little while. Give him these to play with,” I said, reaching under my short skirt to take off my sweaty

Sexy book covers with my stories: One Night Only and Best Lesbian Romance 2012

Will share more when the pub dates are closer but I’m excited that my story “Rock Star Rewards” will be published in Violet Blue’s anthology One Night Only: Erotic Encounters (a post-concert female domination story) and the lesbian French fry in Paris story I’d blogged about, “French Fried,” will be in Radclyffe’s Best Lesbian Romance 2012. Just saw the covers on Amazon and wow wow wow! I was in a little writing...I don't know what to call it, but it was not good, for a while, but am finally getting my nonfiction and fiction mind back and I hope there will be more news to share soon. In both areas I'm trying to push myself to be rigorous and fearless and use everything at my disposal, especially when I think, "I can't." I think that all the time and the only thing standing in my way is that very thought.

My French fry food porn story "French Fried" to be published in Best Lesbian Romance 2012

My French fry food porn story "French Fried," set in the Paris of my imagination, with a little help from a friend's true tale (not the sex part, but the seeing a girl eating fries part), will be published in the Cleis Press anthology Best Lesbian Romance 2012, edited by Radclyffe! Yay! I definitely plan to write more food porn. Waffles, maybe cheese...could I pull off dumplings? Maybe for a short short. Wonder if Fuck Yeah French Fries would be interested?

Funnily enough I'm trying not to eat French fries til Labor Day, when I hope I will be much closer to my goal weight. I did nibble a few the other day at Coffee Shop, and they were delicious. What I love about writing is that I can fantasize about food and sex and whatever else and turn those mental imaginings into stories.

Here's an excerpt:

From "French Fried" by me:

The fry is the best thing I've ever tasted. It's warm and perfectly cooked through, salty, with a hint of some kind of spice. But what heats my mouth even more is the way Veronique is looking at me. Her eyes are taking in my entire face, wide, trusting, seeking, and her lips are red and beautiful. On someone else the color might look overbearing, a vamp on the prowl, but on her it manages to look both innocent and seductive. I'm not afraid of her in the least, nor of her hungry eyes just waiting to devour me like I am doing to the fries. The fork lingers between her perfectly manicured fingers, but she puts it down, then picks up another fry and runs it along my lower lip. I dart out my tongue, teasing the fry, running my tongue up its length, licking the salt off.

She laughs, the sound melodious, but suddenly I want to feed her, too. I part my lips and she traces a fry along each one, from the right edge where they meet, along my lower lip, then around and atop the curves of my upper lip, getting the salty potato sticky with my gloss while her eyes soak in every inch of my face. Her look is intense, whether from under those impossibly long lashes, or straight on. This is a look I never get from the New York girls, who like to keep their distance. I want to tell her I don't speak French, but when I open my mouth, she traces the fry along my tongue. The back of my throat catches. Even though we are flirting over skinny bits of fried potatoes, there's nothing innocent about this. I know little more than this woman's name and already I want all of her, inside and out.

She is so calm, I can only wonder if her heart is beating fast too. "More?" She inches closer to me, and all the thoughts about touching up my makeup, straightening my outfit, wondering what I'm doing, leave my head as she slips me another fry, this time letting her finger dance along my tongue as she does. I press upward against the pad of her finger as she traces it against my organ, and know right away we are doing much more than eating. We are communicating in a language we are both perfectly fluent in, and the delicate hairs along my arms rise up in greeting.

She is so clearly in charge of me, and yet she's not dominating me. As her finger bends and the smooth edge of her nail scrapes my skin, I relax even more. She is teasing me, right here in this bistro, in a city I'd never stepped foot in until yesterday. She is daring me to stay silent, to not rush forward with the torrent of questions I find so tedious about dating back home. She is daring me to simply sit, wait, savor. She pulls out her finger and wipes it on her napkin, the picks up another fry, dips it in a pool of ketchup that somehow now seems like a sex sauce whipped up just for us, and puts it in her mouth.


photo by me but alas, I forget where I took this!

Read the whole story in Best Lesbian Romance 2012! I'm not seeing a cover for it yet, but you can pre-order it from Amazon here (pre-ordering helps support books because it shows an interest from consumers, which means bookstores and online bookstores order more books). I can't speak for anyone else's series, but I can say for Best Bondage Erotica (lineup coming this week!) that the series can only continue if people buy the books.

Grilled cheese porn

Is there really another way to describe these photos from my lunch today at Melt Shop? Pictured, respectively, are fontina and goat cheese with roasted wild mushrooms and parsley pesto on whole wheat and provolone with salami and melt pickled peppers on light rye.

Food porn: grilled cheese and cupcakes

Yesterday I had the pleasure of celebrating my one-month anniversary with a lunch date at Melt Shop. We got rained on soon after we started eating but it was fun. I had the 3-cheese grilled cheese which was delicious and very rich and filling. I'm not a big fan of sundried tomatoes but otherwise it was awesome, though LA's Grilled Cheese Truck is still my favorite. The tater tots were great too. I'll be back next week to try more!


Buttermilk fried chicken grilled cheese (I didn't have this one but it looked good)


3-cheese grilled cheese with sundried tomatoes


tater tots!

And I hope you're visiting Cupcakes Take the Cake every day for royal wedding cupcakes, oozing filled cupcakes, and so much more! Here's my ode to the quiet sweetness of Sugar Sweet Sunshine on the Lower East Side in the morning. I am hoping to rouse myself from slumber for more walks there. It's invigorating and I don't even want sugar after a brisk walk, but I do like giving out cupcakes.

PB&J jalapeño popppers and other deliciousness at Seattle's Shelter Lounge

Today is my last day in Seattle and I'm going to the Nirvana exhibit at Experience Music Project (my first time) and doing more walking - that has been the biggest blessing of this trip, the several miles of walking I go to do each day. I so wish I had the time for that in New York. Another issue in New York is that unless you are walking on a bridge or some sort of park or path, you're stopping so often for lights it almost makes the walk not worth it.





I hung out in Ballard yesterday for CupcakeCamp Seattle - see Cupcakes Take the Cake for photos of that, but the views were stunning and water was lovely. I highly recommend The Locks and the botanical garden on a nice day, and there were some cute shops as I walked from there up toward 22nd.

Food highlight of the day was eating appetizers afterward at The Shelter Lounge. Whoa. We ordered everything except the corn off the menu and all of it was delicious and at happy hour prices only $4-5 each. YES. Here's some food porn for you from there:






Above: outside and inside the PB&J jalapeño popppers




(note: we at first got the plain flatbread, and then when we got this with cheese, someone remarked that it looked like the chef just came all over it - don't think all cupcake people are prudish, they're so not!)


ahi tuna is big in Seattle, I have found

Then I got to see Cunning Minx, who does the excellent Polyamory Weekly podcast, which you can follow on Facebook and Twitter too (follow @cunningminx too).

Me: "So what are you in town for?"

Cunning Minx: "I live here."

We had a fabulous catchup session and I will get to see her when I'm back in Seattle in late June!

Bonus food porn:



Yesterday's breakfast at my new favorite place, Sweet Iron Waffles: turkey, havarti and raspberry preserves waffle!

Cinnamon raisin hump day buns recipe by Gotta Have It contributor Erica Rivera

Erica Rivera wrote the story "Hot Buns on a Sunday Afternoon" in Gotta Have It: 69 Stories of Sudden Sex. Now you can get her recipe for Cinnamon Raisin Hump Day Buns!





Here's the beginning of her story "Hot Buns on a Sunday Afternoon." Read the whole thing in Gotta Have It - click to watch the book trailer.

Hot Buns on a Sunday Afternoon
by Erica Rivera

I always preempt my booty calls with porn.

Sink your teeth into my buns, read the text I sent to my lover. Attached was a picture of my homemade pecan rolls, dripping with caramel. I deliver! Just say when!

To my relief, he was just as eager for the rolls as I was for another roll in the hay.
Now! he responded.

We’d only have an hour, but the way he fucked me, that would be plenty. His style was almost schizophrenic: bunny kisses interspersed with spankings. He’d given me a peek at the wide, wild world of BDSM, and I was hooked. Next on the menu? Anal.

“I’ll be gentle,” he’d promised during our previous in-person negotiations. “I’ll go slow. If you want to stop, we’ll stop. But you won’t want to.”



Order Gotta Have It from:

Amazon.com

Kindle edition

Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)

Books-a-Million

Borders

Powell's

IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)

Cleis Press

Grilled cheese food porn from LA's Grilled Cheese Truck

I fell for The Grilled Cheese Truck this weekend, conveniently parked at the West Hollywood Book Fair yesterday. Below are the cheesy mac melt (mac & cheese on whole wheat!) and a custom-made brie with red onion on whole wheat. Delicious!

Signed copies of my books at Skylight Books plus Grilled Cheese Truck food porn

I walked (!!!!) to Skylight Books today and got a little tour and signed some of my books, so check out their erotica section. I also bought the memoir Cheesemonger: A Life on the Wedge by Gordon Edgar (Chelsea Green), which I'd never heard of but found in their food section. Just before I hit up the Grilled Cheese Truck for the first time. Looking forward to reading about punk rock cheesemaking. I did link to Amazon, because I get a little kickback, but I also love indie bookstores, hence this post. Click here to find Cheesemonger at your local indie bookstore via IndieBound.



Grilled Cheese Truck goodness (Ms. PacMan machine at Golden Gopher) and they also had sweet potato tater tots!!

Snapshots from Seattle

No way to fully capture the trip (or rather, trips), plus I have less than 48 hours at home before going to Minneapolis (NOT a smart move in any way on my part, and I'd cancel if I weren't doing a fantabulous book party on Tuesday night that better be crowded for the free music/sex toys/cupcakes). I just don't travel that well, not for such extended periods. I had fun, but ate too much and was a bit mopey and didn't write. Working on changing that, starting now.



You can now get autographed copies of Best Sex Writing 2010 at Powell's in Portland by mail order or in the store, and at Elliott Bay in Seattle.

Saw this on my way to Elliott Bay on Tuesday:



After a day full of cupcakes, I ate at Barrio in Capitol Hill and it was AMAZING:


Taquitos


Queso fundido


Calamari


Goofing off (with a little help from iPhone app The Best Camera) with Carrie of Bella Cupcake Couture, who was my tour guide, and Jody Hall, owner of Cupcake Royale, who's done, you know, a few little things like be invited to the White House to talk about health care. Such amazing people and if I lived in Seattle, you'd see me with my laptop at Cupcake Royale's Capitol Hill outpost A LOT.

They gave me a t-shirt that says "Rock out with your cupcake out." Then I bought one for my baby cousin.


Trophy Cupcakes not only made the amazing cupcakes with my face on them but also hosted a cupcake meetup yesterday that was well-attended, fun, and gave us some insider scoop on running a Seattle cupcake business. And fed us with s'mores cupcakes that had a graham cracker bottom! This frosting was seriously to die for. Marshmallowtastic.

At Bluebottle Art Gallery, to be owned April 1st by my friend Jessie Oleson of Cakespy, I not only got some Matthew Porter monkey magnets but lusted after this painting called "Miss Petits Gâteaux" of a topless girl with cupcakes by Julie West, whose work I now covet.


There was a lot of being tired/nauseous/emotionally overwhelmed/missing people in hotel rooms, thinking about the past and the present and the future, thinking about both the book A Spy in the House of Love and the reality.


The view around 6 am looked like this from my room at the Westin.


I pack heavy stuff.


You might've heard...it's snowing in New York. My friend Heidi likened it to powdered sugar. I'm so thrilled to be back.