Horny, Hungry, Lazy, Lonely

Saturday Night!!

You know you’ve hit a new low when making a peanut butter sandwich seems like too much work despite the fact that you forgot to eat dinner.

It was that crunchy organic shit though. The shit that doesn’t come premixed. The shit with the oil floating on top just forcing you to make churning one more task in your already arduous day. Plus it has that plastic sealing. That sealing that I’m gonna need a knife to open, though it is the same knife that I will use to do my churning.

I did it though. I broke seals, churned, spread peanut butter on a piece of bread, and put the other piece of bread back because I realized I could just fold the one I had already peanut-buttered and doing double the work seemed like, well, a lot of work. Then I had to wash the knife. Ugh. My life is getting too difficult.

It has been well documented about how much I love Beyonce and Lady Gaga and hate my penis. I’m too lazy to say something new about them, but felt a need to say something and figured I could go back to my old standbys in writing even if only through link/reference.

My pants are not as good of napkins as I wanted them to be and the oil that leaked out of my sandwich and onto my hand because I didn’t churn well enough is now creating stains that look like I’ve done something fun with my Saturday night. That’s right. I am now saying that I could improve my Saturday night by getting into a thumb plus-four-other-fingers war with my penis, but my roommate has some big law school paper due, so he’s still yelling at the furniture.

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Hungry, Lazy

The Diary of the Double Down

May 4th – 6:30pm – Pretension is the art of pretending that the new Double Down sandwich from KFC doesn’t sound delicious. I’m not pretentious. I just waited 30 minutes for a Double Down and am currently eating the shit out of it. I also refuse to eat oranges or apples that aren’t organic. I’m still not pretentious.

May 4th – 6:48pm – The Double Down doesn’t come with the paper holder that it shows it with in the commercial. The crispy chicken skin comes off on my skin.

May 4th – 8:10pm – The shit I just took smelled awful. I went to a local restaurant to do my business because I was on my way home and now I feel as though I’ve committed an act of terrorism to the people of Brooklyn. It smelled like a baby had died a week ago by being smothered to death with its own diaper. I left my ipod in my ears to distract myself from the smells and sounds of the shit that slid out way too easily from my rectum. Regrets by Ben Folds was playing.

May 4th – 11:15pm – I’m tired. I think my teeth are tired. Can teeth feel tired? Mine do.

May 5th – 1:18am – I don’t have to wake up tomorrow, so I’m awake and typing. I want to go to sleep but I want to be awake when whatever is molesting the insides of my stomach finally bursts through. I tried to take another shit, but all that came out were gusts of sulfur wind that sounded like a cave being blown into. I still wiped just to be safe.

May 5th – 2:03am – I laughed at something I watched on Hulu and a little salty vomit found it’s way onto my tongue.

May 5th – 8:32am – I woke up to pee to find myself in an accidental dutch oven.

May 5th – 10:28am – I’m awake and my face feels greasy. My shoulder hurts and I keep thinking that my burps are going to alleviate the pain in my stomach but they don’t. I want to poop, but it feels like my intestines are leaking into my kidneys and the poop is having one of those parties you see in commercials where they anthropomorphize things that you put in your body like food and alcohol and show them having a party so that you are annoyed with the things you’ve put in your body and then their product flies down your esophagus in a super-cape and its anthropomorphic being saves the day. I need something that is anthropomorphic and good. This evil shit is partying too hard in my kidneys.

May 5th – 1:03 pm – FINALLY! It took another couple of handfuls of bran cereal to force out the rest of that chicken skin that was lining all of my inner body parts. I’ve been twitching all day. I’m gonna go listen to all the songs I can find with regret in the title. I’m going to stick to the Famous Bowls. That way I can still pretend I’m not pretentious.

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Hungry, Lazy

Food Similes

I have a wall of menus. I don’t have any other decoration of my room. I have a wall with a large map of Brooklyn and menus from local restaurants. Is it because I like food? Sure. Is it because I am constantly thinking about where my next meal will come from and what it will consist of? Yes. Is it because I use them to order from? Absolutely not. They are simply menus, meant to tantalize me, meant to excite me, meant to make me feel like there is good in the world.

I never understood window shopping, and I grew up in a tourist town that’s economy is kept afloat by window shoppers who forgot they were only supposed to be window shopping, but food is something I window shop for constantly. I love living in Brooklyn because everybody puts their menu out on the street and I can walk up and peruse the appetizers and talk to myself about how when I have money I will go there to eat lunch. People need to accept this as a valid form of window shopping. I want to live in a world where I can walk into a restaurant get a feel for the ambiance, maybe sit in a chair or booth, look at what other people are eating, and leave without eating a thing. We do that at clothes stores all the time. Well, I don’t, but others do. Let me have my food.

Sometimes I just walk up to my wall and read the menus I’ve read a million times before like it’s my favorite children’s fantasy book that reminds me of how innocent and vulnerable I was when I was reading and falling for fantasy. Speaking of similes, food provides excellent material for similes, so I’m going to pick out random items from my wall of cheap food and create similes that use them.

Okay, my wall is on the other side of the room, so I’m going to watch some Hulu and then I’ll get to this project.

I’m back, The Marriage Ref isn’t very funny.

White people in cultural organizations are like curried cauliflower wraps with chickpeas, brown rice, and mango chutney. They are obviously trying to be exotic and do genuinely enjoy the culture the are appropriating, but they are white and will never get away from the Whole Foods/Yuppie vegetable and rice combo of cauliflower and brown rice.

Going on an internet blind date with someone who you really hit it off with is like a quinoa salad with corn, black beans, tomatoes and corn tortilla strips with avacado dressing. Every piece of it is great and exciting, but in the back of your mind you know this is still quinoa which has a disturbing texture and aftertaste that makes your self-esteem lower because no one else has to resort to quinoa to find love.

Your uncle’s new fiancée is like housemade pastrami spiced brisket and leyden with housemade sauerkraut, arugula, tomato, onion, grainy mustard. She seems to be getting the idea of the family and trying to fit in, but she keeps putting her weird touches in that make us all uncomfortable.

Being smacked in the balls lightly by a woman you want to sleep with is like a hot dog with peanut sauce, indonesian pickles, jalepenos on a challah roll. It’s confusing. You’re in pain and angry, but she didn’t know what she did, and her hand was close to your penis so that’s good, right? No, probably not, it’s still a malicious act, though not intentionally malicious, so like what’s the harm? Well, my balls hurt so that’s harmful, but I can’t get mad. Fuck it, I’ll just get whiny. That’s the path this hot dog takes – it’s a hot dog so it’s sort of New Yorky and want’s to discuss and talk about shit, then the anger increases as the spices to – first Indian food, then Indonesian, then Mexican (spicier and spicier), then it ends with challah – aka Jewishy – aka whiny.

Covering for someone at work who works the night shift when you usually work the day shift is like sauteed seitan steak in onions, veggie chorizo, brown rice, black beans, arepa con queso, madro and avacado. You really have no idea what to expect, but the way they describe it alternately sounds like it’s much more fun than what you usually do, and terrible, but you assume that’s just because people like complaining about their job. It still fills you with trepidation though.

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Hungry, Lazy

My Bed

I’m glad  to wake up in my bed. Not that I don’t usually, but on days when I have absolutely nothing that I have to do, waking up in my bed is the best. It has food near it from the last couple of nights when I decided the cupboards in my kitchen were too far away when I was going to sleep, it has my computer on it because there is no reason to let that get away from me.

Sure it smells like sweat, is covered in crumbs, and has a big indentation where my body is that is really bad for my back, but it’s so easy. Since I have no windows I don’t even have to see the beautiful day that I’m missing. I hope it’s not beautiful outside because I don’t want to be missing something.

Fuck it, what could I be missing – I have hulu, honey bbq chips, challah, and my sweaty bed.

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Depressed, Hungry

Depression Chips

I don’t buy enough food to support a depression. As I’ve stated before I do not seek hierarchy in my emotions and therefore am prone to bouts of depression, existential angst, and fearful running away. I do most of these with a smile on my face because I am aware that this means I am living correctly. The problem is that these bouts, however non normative they may be, are still supplemented with the typical lethargy and hunger that is associated with depression. Considering how lazy I am in my normal life and how desperately I constantly seek food, this means I become a mindless, moveless, eating machine.

The problem is that I live on restaurant row and work in a restaurant and my kitchen has flooded multiple times with the sewage of the entire apartment building. I don’t buy many groceries. When I lived in Maine, I had a basement full of outdated healthfood snacks that I would bring into my recliner chair to comfort me in my time of upper class white guilt, but now I have no chips to keep my mouth in constant motion, and I have no sleeves of cookies to magically disappear during the time it takes a sitcom to finish because I forget to buy snacks.

Snacks are more important than we pretend they are. If I could just eat snacks and not eat meals, I would. Especially if there were dipping sauces.

There was a summer where I lived next to a Super America. Super America is the convenience store of the midwest that offers you chili if you push a button. I loved SA. I used to go there for donuts and come away with a sandwich, cheese and ranch dipping sauces and three different bags of chips. The best part about that was not finishing all the chips. Tomorrow, when you are playing mariokart and don’t want to leave the house, you don’t have to because you have bags of opened doritos lining every part of the house.

I need to buy more chips and leave them in secret hiding places all around the house. That would keep me going through this depression. It also might bring me friends in the form of rodents. YAY!

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Attention Whoring, Gender, Hungry, Indignant, Lazy, Media, My favorites, Selfish

Type Ayudame into FreeTranslation.com

Our world is transforming through technology. Okay, I’ll wait a second while that uber profound statement sets in. I know it’s taking a while because no one has ever said anything like it before. I’m still waiting because I think you are still flabbergasted by my extreme assertion. I now am going to continue to wait to see how much I can make you read while I think of how I am going to relate this to feminism and possibly socialism.

Got it!

Sure. I also hate douchebags who beat women, but creating a facebook group about it puts that opinion on the same level as this one. Both could even be true. You might have been scared by “Are You Afraid of the Dark” and dislike domestic abuse, but I would never talk about both of those opinions in the same sentence.

I understand that it makes me sound like an old person clinging to my fear of change if I say that facebook groups, or MySpace petitions, or Twit-complaints trivialize issues that need to be dealt with in a more traditional way so instead I will say that the gentrification of these casual internet sites into supposedly meaningful expressions of belief just offers its users the ability to feel self-righteous without accomplishing anything worthwhile.

I’m sure there are people who join the facebook group to save Darfur who are also holding fundraisers, but there are plenty who are not. That’s not necessarily harmful – in fact it’s completely neutral and I’m fine with that. If facebook didn’t exist those people would be just as harmless and harmful. They would simply discuss it in person and do nothing about it. No big deal. Not the worst thing in the world. The problem comes in that facebook offers these people with a tangible piece of evidence to call on when their morality is questioned. I don’t mean that there is a group of morality police running around questioning the validity of each person’s indignant opinions in terms of how much they actually try to help the problem they discuss, but rather that when that person’s conscience acts as the morality police they need to know exactly how much good they are doing for the world.

You don’t become a feminist because you joined a facebook group declaring that you “Hate douchebags who beat women” especially when the group description uses the problematic word “pussy” to describe the offenders, and you aren’t helping the situation in Haiti by joining a group that states that “Haiti makes me : (.”

Last night I got the maddest I’ve gotten in years when I brought back my steaming hot bowl of Annie’s Mac’n’Cheese from the kitchen and immediately tripped and dumped the entire bowl onto my laptop. I swore like a pirate who found out his half finished bottle of rum had actually been AIDS-juice. This was because my two biggest loves of my life: Food and My Computer had attacked each other and made each other less useful. The white gloss of cheese across my keyboard and the dirty macaroni that is settling my stomach serve to remind me of the most traumatic experience of my past year. I say this because I am well aware that this is not the biggest deal in the world, but to me it was.

I don’t have the money or time to help out the horrible situation in Haiti, or Darfur, or Afghanistan, or any number of other disturbing things that happen in our world. I only have the money to go back to Minnesota come early March to visit my friends and see my old sketch group’s comedy show. Fuck, I’m selfish, but at least I don’t fake selflessness. Technology has allowed us to do this and I hate indignant rants on the internet that don’t do anything or effect anybody except allowing the ranter to feel better about themselves.

Wow. I feel much better now.

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Hungry, Indignant

Sauce

Hot sauce.

I like condiments. I don’t think any food is complete without the addition of at least three sauces. I once came home from working in the computer lab on my useless mathematics degree to open an empty fridge except a loosely wrapped pile of corn tortillas and a door full of mustards, hot sauces, and wasabi ketchups. That was fine. Protein be damned! I made myself a peanut butter, mayo, chipotle, wasabi, curry wrap. It was delish.

Mustard.

I wish it were societally acceptable to eat meals of condiments. My latest purchase of french fries was complimented nicely with a mix of 10 different mustards. I used the fries as ladles to spoon the mixture of mustards into my mouth. It was delish.

Peanut Sauce.

The reason sauces are so good is because there is such variety. And what happens when you mix two sauces? You get a new sauce. Neat. Any sauce goes with any other sauce. No sauces are necessary to be separated. Sauces are the food equivalent to integration, and what better time to talk about integration than days after MILK Jr. Day. I say MILK Jr. because I think the man would appreciate being compared to a typical ingredient in condiments. Though condiments are able to be mixed, they also maintain their ethnic origins in terms of taste. Like if you add peanut sauce and ketchup together it tastes like Indian American food. It’s delish.

Mayo.

This is how we should treat race. You should mate with someone of a different race but maintain a vibrant understanding of where you come from. Let’s sauce up our diversity!

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