Your daily dose of WTH?
I’d say that about 98% of the time, I open my “Add New Post” box with the intention of writing about a specific topic. Granted, that topic may be burritos. Or loogies. But I usually know at least the gist of what I’ll write. This is what happens the other 2% of the time. What am I going to blather on about? Who knows? It’s a free for all! (Free for me? Free for meeeeee!)
Let’s see. Well, my nose is stopped up, so there’s that. But only on one side, which makes me feel like I’m listing slightly to the left. Perhaps I should carry around my 2-lb Shred weight (Oh, the Shred. Remember when I did that?) in my right hand all day, and when people inquire about it I’ll say “Just balancing out the snot!”
I will make lots of friends.
Speaking of making friends, I have stopped texting. (That was a loose association, but we’ve segued. Hang on.) This was totally due to the fact that last month I sent and received 781 texts. Seven hundred. Eighty. One. You guys, what am I? A thirteen year old girl? No. No, I am not. So pretty much right after I got that bill I put the kibosh on texting. This is unfortunate, because I love it. I admit it! I love texting! I mean, you guys. The very next day after I gave up the text, one of my friends (BUZ) sent me a picture message of his 13 month old totally chowing down on a giant burrito. Normally, I would have replied in a nanosecond (YES! GET IT GIRLFRIEND! YOU KNOW WHERE THE GOOD STUFF’S AT!) but instead: stony silence. It’s like I DON’T EVEN CARE. But I do! I do so care about baby burrito face-stuffing! And so I confess it here publicly.
Hey, I made some banana bread. It’s done. BRB.
Ok, back. What is that all about, anyway, me being able to make breads and absolutely nothing else? I make a mean cornbread, people ask for “my” chocolate bread recipe every Christmas (totally filched that one from a co-worker of days past), and my (L’s grandmother’s, rather) banana bread is so moist it makes grown men weep. And yet, I made the most disgusting plate of spaghetti ever slopped on a plate last Tuesday. Dude, it’s spaghetti. It’s not rocket science. What gives, long thin noodles and jar of sauce? Do I not brown you as others do, ground beef? Do I not join sauce to noodle in the correct ratio? Have I created discord ‘twixt the two? Fie! Woe!
I hate cooking.
Welp! I’ll leave you all with these tidbits to mull over! I’m expecting lots of comments. Like maybe 47.