7 Days of Positive Thoughts – Day 7

Gah!  I totally meant to do this last night.  I seriously sat down at my computer at one point with this in mind.  I fail.

Anyway…

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Day 7 Positive Thought:  A big Sunday breakfast is good for all kinds of things.

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I love a big breakfast on Sundays.  I love it because it feels ceremonial.  I love it because it reminds me of my grandfather – who loved a big breakfast every other day of the week too.  I love it because it’s delicious.  I love it because it makes the rest of my day full of possibility.  I love it because it gives me energy for the rest of the day.  I love it because it allows me the chance to try something new.  I love it because I made it.

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This concludes the 7 days of positive thoughts (on my blog).  Keep having ’em otherwise!

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7 Days of Positive Thoughts – Day 2

Day 2 Positive Thought:  Sometimes something good can turn into something awesome.

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A few days ago, I made pumpkin fudge.  I mean, seriously, come on!  Pumpkin.  Fudge.  What is not to love?

And, as tasty as it turned out to be, it ended up being very soft.  Not “fudge”-like.  Well, yes and no.  Did I still cut off a piece and eat it?  You betcha.

But it was soft.  I suspect that I did not get the temperature high enough.  (I was not planning to ever own a candy thermometer, but, considering that I am still unemployed, maybe I should.)

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Knowing that only the texture was the issue, I went online to find out if there was a solution to this problem.

Turns out there isn’t (at least not when you’re already done and have poured the fudge).

But there is….

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Someone online (more than one someones) suggested just melting the fudge back down and using it as a sauce.  As in, “hell, might as well just go liquid all the way and pour that shit on something”.

Which.  Is.  Just.  What.  I.  Did.

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When I was grocery shopping today, I picked up a pint of vanilla ice cream.

And then I brought it home and put some in a bowl.

Then I grabbed a chunk of my too-soft fudge and heated it up.

Then I poured it over my ice cream.

Then I died and went to heaven.

Because IT WAS FRIGGIN AWESOME.

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So, because of a small error on my part, I had the most delicious fall treat of ice cream with pumpkin topping.  Ever.

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Naughty words – here they come…or…Stories that make me laugh

I recently recalled a few stories… that are true.  They are funny to me.  Probably because they involve naughty words or suggestive phrases.

Hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed living them.

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Story one…

In 2003, I went to Gathering of the Vibes with two of my friends.  It was still being held in upstate New York on a huge parcel of land resembling a farm.  It might actually have been a farm.  It was huge fun (despite a downpour the first night).  I got to see James Brown!  (Weird, right?  At a jam band venue?)  While we were standing amongst a crowd waiting for the next show, my friend Charleen all of a sudden let out a bellowing laugh (this is her normal laugh, btw, hearty and from her toes).  I turned to look and a guy walking towards us had on a shirt that read:

FUCK YOU

YOU FUCKING FUCK

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As the guy walked by, he smiled at Charleen’s laugh (still in progress).  This guy was not huge or anything.  Just meaty.  And you could tell that he could back that t-shirt up one hundred percent.

It gets better.

Fast forward a few years, and in 2006 we went back to the Vibes (minus Charleen).  As my friend Amy and I walked amongst the vendors, I saw the guy.  I knew it was him.  So, I said to Amy, “I think that’s the ‘fuck you you fucking fuck’ guy.”  She said, “oh really” as if to say “that’s cute you see him everywhere now”.

But I walked up to this guy, and the following conversation took place:

Me: Were you here three years ago?

Guy: Yes…

Me: Do you have a t-shirt that says “fuck you you fucking fuck”?

Guy (perking up): Yes!  I do have a t-shirt that says “fuck you you fucking fuck”!

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Aha!  I knew it.  You just don’t forget a dude like that.  Or his aggressive shirt.

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Story two…

My ex-boyfriend was very funny.  He frequently matched my “cut you off at the knees” humor.  But he was also funny in an almost innocent “why are you laughing at that” way.

I don’t have to tell you he watched porn – not regularly like he needed an intervention, but like every guy on this planet watches porn.  Curious about this phenomena (because women just aren’t as into it, I don’t think), I asked him point-blank about this activity.

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Me: So…when you watch porn…do you masturbate?  I mean, is that what you do?

Ex (after some deliberation): Well… sometimes, I guess.  Sometimes, I just have a sandwich.

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A sandwich.

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That?  Has to be the funniest thing anyone has ever said relating to porn.  I instantly got an image of my ex sitting down to lunch and catching up on his porn.  Oh.  My.  God.

I continue to tell this story to this day as an example of how men view porn – part of life as well as part of a balanced meal.

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Last story…

For quite some time, I was a frequent patron of The Strange Brew Tavern (now over 100 beers on tap!).  I still like to go, but for a while I was there every Sunday night to see the blues jam musicians.

And I was not the only one.

There would be others who would also be there every Sunday night.  One of them was a veteran in a wheelchair.  I assumed he was a vet because he wore some type of patriotic ball cap and there were two American flags flying from each side of his chair.

One night, I happened to look over at the back of his chair, and then nearly fell off of mine.  He had a bumper sticker on the back of his wheelchair.  And this is what it said:

MY OTHER RIDE IS YOUR MOM.

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Holy.  Hell.  Oh.  My.  God.

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I think I jabbed a friend and pointed madly.  “Look!”  I mean, that is BRAZEN.  But, you know what?  It was funny as hell and he got away with it.  So, good on him.

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O Chocolat (or…why I am no longer allowed to eat Lindt balls)

Last week, I went to Kittery, ME with a friend.  I mainly wanted to go to Crate & Barrel.  And I wanted to go there for, of all things, dish towels and pet food bowls.

I know, right?  It’s amazing what being bored will spur you to do.

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We made a stop at the Lindt chocolate store. (YUMMY.)

I was restrained. I picked out a few single pieces and paid for them.  While I waited for my friend to make her purchase, I thought…and then said out loud, “hey, mine are paid for, which means I can eat one RIGHT NOW”.  So, I did.

Remember Augustus Gloop in the original movie when his mother is all “slow down Augustus!”?  That may or may not have been me.

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And as is frequently the case when you have a piece of chocolate with a hard shell (and a yummy creamy center…creeeeeeamy……..) bits of the shell flew off when I bit into it.  And as is frequently the case when you have a large rack, a piece of chocolate landed between my boobs.

I am accustomed to this and basically have no shame, so I fished it out and flicked it on the floor.  I had a tank top on under another shirt so I tried to look down my shirt for any other stray pieces without looking too sleazy.  (Mission accomplished!  I think.  The guy shopping in the store may have thought otherwise.)

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After a little bit we went to a seafood place for dinner.  I hit the ladies room (had to pee, my friends!).  And when I lifted up my tank top to button my pants after I was done, there was a big brown smear on my belly.  A LARGE BROWN SMEAR ACROSS MY BELLY.

I kid you not…I swear on my life…as God is my witness…THIS is how the next .05 seconds went inside my head (bear in mind that thoughts are heavily influenced by situation and MY situation was a stall and a toilet):

“How did I get poop on my belly?????….Wait, I didn’t poop…..I KNEW more chocolate fell down my tank top!!!”

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Once I figured out what really happened, I had to scrape it off (twas in a stall, remember?).  But, really?  POOP??  What.  The.  Hell.

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Believe me when I say there is no sight more sad than a middle aged woman in a bathroom stall at Weathervane scraping chocolate that had melted (and then dried) off her belly.

Well, maybe one that’s more sad –   that same woman sitting down to tell the world about how she at first thought it was poop.

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Dear Cupcake, I love you.

I am officially addicted to cupcakes.

Just what I need – jobless and eating cupcakes.  I am surely headed in the direction of those people who eventually gain so much weight that firemen have to show up with axes and a pallet jack to break them out of their bedroom so they can pee.

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Until then, I will continue to adore Cupcakes 101.

Today I tried (for the very first time, I swear) the Shirley Temple cupcake.  It is described as “ginger ale infused cupcake, cherry buttercream frosting and a maraschino cherry topper”.  Here’s the pic featured on their Facebook page:

eat us.....we can fill the void inside you......

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Holy hell, people.  That frosting could take out every one of your teeth with its sugary self, and it is so gooooooooooooooooood.

I felt like a prophet.  That cupcake spoke to me and said, “I am the delicious, and you shall henceforth eat me”.

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I hope the firemen like them too.

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How I almost choked a bitch at the grocery store.

No, no.  The title of this post is an exaggeration.  I did not almost choke a bitch.  I DID almost take my cart and ram it into this lady at 60 miles an hour while screaming “SHUT UP BITCH”.

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I was near the dairy section and happened to appear on the scene just as a man and woman were perusing the juice selection.  And the woman said, “I don’t get it.  They don’t have any juices not made from concentrate.  I mean…if I was looking to get diabetes, maybe I’d get them, but…”

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First of all, what a weird way to put it.  “I don’t want any sugar”, “I don’t want that much sugar”, or “Too much sugar is bad for you” – all reasonable explanations for not wanting juice made from concentrate.  But “I don’t want to drink this juice because I might get diabetes”?  Lil over the top, ma’am.

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Then she started to walk away (or so I thought), grousing something, and then telling her male companion, “well, you know me”.  And she said it in that infuriating way that implies that what she is doing is indicative of how discerning her tastes are, when really she is being a giant pain in everyone’s asses.

“Well, you know me.  I like to knock school children out of the way with my car.  It’s who I am.”

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I walked on because I was already annoyed with pretty much everyone in this whole grocery store…nay, all people in all grocery stores everywhere.  Let me get the fuck out of this place, please.

I went down another couple of aisles and, as I circled back, I ended up on the other end of an aisle near the juices and THAT DAMN WOMAN WAS STILL THERE.

STILL BITCHING ABOUT JUICE MADE FROM CONCENTRATE.

Only now she had caught the ear of other shoppers, because, as she circled the juice area like a fucking shark (a no-sugar-added-please shark), I heard her say, “I mean, how can they call it juice if it’s just sugar and water?”

I really expected her to follow this up with, “Am I right?  Am I right?” as if she was participating in the world’s worst grocery store standup routine.

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I have no idea how long she ended up spouting her gospel of juice.  All I know is she made me want to drink juice made from concentrate and follow it with a sugar chaser.

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just checkin’

just checkin

maybe why people don't text me that much?


Things I Learned This Past Weekend Camping

  1. In a campground, one small child can be heard for miles.
  2. Plastic bags are not an appropriate resolution to noise pollution (see #1 above).
  3. “moose knuckle”
  4. Martinis are delicious. (fair nuff…already knew that one)
  5. When signs tell you the hike is 3 miles, it is really 47.  I mean, 470.
  6. Most people ignore danger signs.  (So, why haven’t we weeded out all the idiots yet?)
  7. Don’t save time by buying pre-packaged mango spears – unless you really like eating cement-like blocks of fruit.
  8. The only thing funnier than the oddly named incense “wet panties” is accidentally calling it another p-word.
  9. Swearing is an art form.
  10. Camping is the most fun ever. (ok, knew that one too, but still…)

Here I am in all my suckiness…

I stole that blog title from my friend Amanda.  It was her declaration of pride at utterly and miserably failing at something.

It’s sort of like saying, “Look at how bad I am at this!  I revel in it.  Join me in the revelry of my failure.”

I used to say something similar when smacked in the face with my bad choices in relationships: “I am basking in my dysfunction.”

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I just posted the following on google+:

I made orzo. Which was not bad, but called for white wine (which I just ran out of) and so I substituted diluted vinegar (like they tell you to do all over the internets) but it was still very tart with the vinegar, but it was nothing that some salt and more parmesan cheese wouldn’t cure, and…who needs low blood pressure anyway?

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That just goes to show that there is no failure some salt and cheese can’t cure.

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And when you make a joke online that no one gets, just laugh to yourself and know that you are reveling in your suckiness.  Stand proud.

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oh, sriracha…why ya gotta be like that? (aka foods that hurt me)

A partial list of foods that hurt my body somehow:

Corn (we all know why)

Iceburg lettuce (the worst of the lettuces…evidently, due to its high water content, it decomposes in your digestive system…and then…it acts like corn)

Raw onions and peppers (only raw – give me headaches….what is the ingredient that somehow disappears when they are cooked??)

Spicy things (sriracha, stop burning my body from the inside out!)

Newcastle beer (I don’t even like this beer, but I found out several years ago that something in it does not agree with me – and must exit my body RIGHT AWAY)

Dairy products (I am lactose intolerant, and yet that does not stop me from consuming milk, ice cream, cheese, and… basically anything squeezed out of a cow’s udder)

Raisins (for those who know me, this is purely psychological – they FUCK WITH MY MIND!)

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Post a comment about a food that hurts you.