My attitude towards food has been described as odd. I’m hypoglycemic, which means I eat often or people die, but I rarely rejected a food opportunity even before I started Hulking Out. I think I’m addicted. If I didn’t eat, it would probably kill me.
My enthusiasm for all things edible does not make me a “foodie”. If anything, it’s taken me in the opposite direction. I appreciate a gourmet meal as much as the next guy, but I’ve experienced the same deep satisfaction eating a chili dog from my hometown’s hotdog restaurant.
I’m regularly accused of being dark, and for a long time I fought that characterization despite some damning evidence.
I’m having the scariest Halloween season ever. It’s not the haunted corn maze my roommate keeps trying to get me to see (because I definitely need another weird complex associated with vegetables). It’s not the girls who literally have to tape their body parts to make sure everything stays inside their skimpy costumes. It’s not even the inhuman number of Pumpkin Spice Lattes I’ve been drinking in preparation for the long, dark, Pumpkin Spice-less time known as “The Rest of the Year”. Those things are frightening, but the most terrifying part of this Halloween– the thing that’s been keeping me up at night in a cold sweat and haunting my dreams when I finally manage to sleep– is the sudden, horrifying epiphany I had last week.
I finally figured out what makes monsters so scary.
They’re my ex-boyfriends!
A couple summers ago, I could not get a job if my life depended on it. My mom wanted me out of the house, doing something productive, and believe me when I say I wanted that too. I went to three or four interviews, but I always stick my foot in my mouth during interviews and none of the employers wanted anything to do with me. (True, sad story: when I interviewed for my current job, I accidentally made a really inappropriate joke and went on to talk about my fun sense of humor. So when I say I’m bad in interviews, I mean I’m bad in interviews.)