There’s something I need to acknowledge. It’s taken me a long time to accept it about myself, but it’s time for me to come out and admit it. I… am a hot damn mess.
Gross May Be An Understatement
- My morning breath is awful.
- If I didn’t shave my legs, there’s a distinct possibility I’d be mistaken for a chimpanzee.
- I Hulk out when I forget to eat. Not in a cute, green-tinged, cutoff-pants kind of way, but in an incoherent, zero-to-psycho in 3 seconds flat kind of way.
- I once listened to the same Ke$ha song 23 times in a row. (She’s catchy. I hate her.)
- I made three people cry with sarcastic comments… last month.
I don’t know what it was or how I missed it, but something terrible happened to you, possibly while I was asleep or in the shower. Somehow (and I blame Prince), it became acceptable to use a symbol instead of a name. At some point (and this is entirely Cher’s fault), audiences decided they’d prefer to hear robots singing. Somewhere along the line (and this is all on David Bowie and Freddie Mercury– even my undying devotion to glam rock can’t absolve them) we, as concert goers, came to expect our performers to wear more glitter than an exotic dancer at a club named Twinkle Town. So it’s time for a sit-down chat, World.
Sometimes I write lists to cope with things. If I’m feeling kind of anal, To Do lists are handy. If I’m facing a particularly dreadful trip to the grocery store, it’s nice to have a shopping list. And if I’m trapped on a bus for 11 hours, pretending not to hear the British lady beside me fight with the Mexican guy a few seats over, it’s easy to curl into a small ball, write a bunch of lists, and hope no one notices me. These next few short lists are the direct result of one of those scenarios.
I have a bunch of really short lists that I should post, but they’re not long enough to be entertaining for more than ten seconds and I feel like I’m gypping the blogosphere. The last thing I want is for the Internet Gods to feel shorted, because my life would be an information drought without them. (True story: every time I add a new post, I also ritually sacrifice a virgin.)
Anyway… here is a list of short lists.
QUESTIONS I HAVE FOR:
1. What is “cheese substitute”? Is it really, as my friend Charlie says, chunks of salted fat?
2. Why hasn’t the consideration that cheese substitute may be chunks of salted fat prevented me from eating you? Shouldn’t that gross me out?
3. Why is pepperoni the only flavor worth eating?
4. Is there a way to eat you that won’t result in molten sauce and cheese substitute burning my tongue or fingers? Don’t say waiting. No one I know has ever been able to wait to eat a Pizza Roll.
5. Why do you insist on being arranged in a circle in my microwave? Is this somehow conducive to cooking, or was the person hired to write your instructions paid by the word?
True story: Justin Bieber has his own nail polish collection coming out soon, and all the colors are named after his songs. I only recently figured out what a Justin Bieber is and have yet to discover why his hair is on sideways, but I think I could really get into this musical nail polish thing. I even have a list of colors and tag lines to help other bands break into the cosmetics industry.
(It’s 2:45 a.m., so I’m pretty sure these jokes won’t be funny tomorrow. And they’ll never be funny if you aren’t at least kind of familiar with the bands… I apologize for your horrible taste in music and my early morning blogging abilities.)