When Adam and I first started dating, he didn’t want me using his real name/picture on my blog—this was pre-Tumblr, btw. To accommodate his wishes, I would refer to him as Neutron (Adam→Atom→Neutron), and I represented him with a picture of Jiminy Cricket. The image wasn’t a random throwaway; he made me want to be a better person and I considered him to be my conscience.
Well, last night I was watching Horton Hears a Who and one of the characters mentioned something about cookies. That’s when I remembered that I had about a 1/2 cup of Ghirardelli semi-sweet chocolate chips in the pantry. I dashed to the kitchen, scaled the recipe down to use what I had left of the chips (do you know how difficult it is to do math when you’ve got cookies on the brain, or for that matter measure out 1/2 an egg?) and baked the cookies at 9:30 on a Sunday night.
Here’s the thing: I don’t even like chocolate chip cookies. What I do like is eating enough cookie dough that contracting salmonella becomes a distinct possibility. As I sat on the couch, using my silicone spatula to scrape the dough from the mixing bowl into my gaping maw, I thought to myself “Who’s going to drive me to the hospital if I get violently ill?” and then I thought “Adam would if he were here, but I probably wouldn’t be doing this if he were.”
That, my friends, is what you would call a paradox.
Oh damn. You shouldn’t have announced this. Now I’m going to eat myself into oblivion.
This conversation happened last week:
Coworker: Want to go to ___ BBQ for lunch? Me: Do they have mac ‘n cheese? Coworker: Their BBQ is amazing. Me: I WANT MAC ‘N CHEESE DO THEY HAVE MAC ‘N CHEESE?! Coworker: I dunno, maybe… Me: I’m too busy to go out for lunch.
Fact: At the soul food place by my office, I’ve been known to order the 1-entree, 2-side platter with mac ‘n cheese as both of my sides.
Mom, please ignore this post; I don’t mean to upset you.
Listening to R. Kelly’s Ignition (Remix) on any day other than a Friday - especially Monday - is weird and wrong. I just got totally pumped up for nothing, thanks a lot Mr. Kelly.
So this is horrible, but whatever; I never claimed to be a nice person.
As bits of information trickled out about the Caylee Anthony case and we were told that her mouth had been duct-taped and that a heart-shaped sticker had been affixed to said duct tape, all I could think was “I wonder if it was a Lisa Frank sticker.”
This game becomes fun when my physical appearance changes in an embarrassing way. Not a single person has noticed that I came in looking like a god damned lobster because I forgot to put on sunscreen for our garage sale on Saturday. If they did notice, they’re being very polite about it.
At some point in the last few weeks, I must have accidentally toggled the “Stay on Top” command on Textpad’s system menu. Instead of looking into it, I just kept minimizing TextPad every time I had to access a window behind it. I’ve been doing this for at least two weeks; assuming, incorrectly, that there was something wrong with TextPad.
Today, a light bulb finally went off and I realized that it was probably something that I did wrong and that I was able to fix it with a click of the mouse.
This is why robots are going to take over the world. Someone is going to inadvertently switch them on to “kill mode” and not realize that they have the power to turn it off.
I’m not particularly hungry, but there is a jar of peanut butter and some fresh bananas in the kitchen and a week at my parents’ house has severely weakened my resolve to keep my eating in check.
I’m not at all surprised that most of my shame-tagged posts are also tagged with food.
A Walmart employee was trampled to death on Friday as hundreds of people broke through the doors just before the store was scheduled to open at 5am. Shoppers even jostled emergency workers as they tried to revive the man. When police attempted to clear the store, shoppers complained that it was UNFAIR. They had been waiting in line all night and would continue their shopping.
Black Friday Indeed.
I thought I couldn’t possibly hate humanity more than I already do. Leave it to Walmat shoppers to prove me wrong.
