I’ve Got to Talk to Some Food About This

I’m not proud of the amount of pizza I just ate, but I’m pretty sure I can add it to my resume under “Additional Skills.”

Sunday I ate pretty much half my body weight in bacon. Apparently I’m training for the Bacolympics.

It has occurred to me that I may have some food issues. Moving on…

I’m doing well. And by “well” I mean I have only screamed twice at Donald Trump. When he was on the TV. We don’t hang out.

In fact, I’m going to give myself an award. I’ve nominated myself in several categories, and I like the odds. Awards I could win today:

“Didn’t punch anyone in the neck.”

“Ate only a slightly unreasonable amount of nachos.”

“Able to segue primal scream into chorus of ‘I Will Always Love You.'”

“Discovered I could fit under desk without measuring first.”

“Probably convinced liquor store guy I was actually having people over and not drinking in the dark with hand grasped tightly around abnormally large glass of Zinfandel.”

And to round out the completely random musings (yes, I just said “musings”) I have notes on sunflower seed butter, which I sort of accidentally bought today. Sunflower seed butter is disappointing. It’s like cheap wine or stale pizza: it gets the job done but for a little while your life has slightly less meaning and you start thinking that “Full House” reruns seem like a perfectly valid use of your time, then oh screw it youll just take a nap afterwards and hopefully won’t dream of Bob Saget. And you’ll start thinking that maybe you’ll read the “Twilight” books, or watch a Rob Schneider movie. The sky is a little less blue, the grass a little less green, and that stupid bird is ever so slightly out of tune.

Next time, I’ll buy almond butter. Life is for the living.

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