As it perfectly sums up a life Janie-lived:
As it perfectly sums up a life Janie-lived:
My mom put out a fruit bowl (basket? It’s square-ish, so presumably it’s not a bowl. What is this? Who is an adult that uses shit like this? Who do I know that has decorative kitchen…appliances (?) things?).
And I can’t be sure if this is arranged the way it is because my mother is 1. hilarious 2. a space case that doesn’t pay attention to what she’s doing or 3. conducting a deeply disturbing social experiment on her dinner guests.
She actually prompted people to grab some fruit or nuts before dinner if they were hungry.
Hey, seriously, what is the fruit and nuts receptacle called?
I like to make inflammatory remarks on the Internet. I’ve said some truly and exceptionally stupid and abrasive things online because I’m a glutton for punishment and other equally selfish and needy reasons.
But never have I captured such a strong reaction as when I said this:
In 2016 I learned that people fucking love some ravioli. Like a lot. It wasn’t totally fair that the first comment came from a handsome gentlemen actually from Italy with a glib response:
And then I learned that ravioli comes in all kinds of intriguing and diverse flavors and styles, and suddenly ravioli bonds were being forged on my FaceBook timeline:
And not only were friends tethered together through a mutual acquaintance and appreciation for pillow-y food treats, it generated confusion:
And then it started to manifest in delicious suggestions by beloved friends:
And then I got called out:
And somehow bringing up Dunkaroos brought up an entirely different, though I’d venture, equally important conversation about yummy snacks and the halcyon days of the WWF.
Starting to accidentally insult people:
And I begin to question who I am since most of my favorite food is courtesy of this chef:
So I needed to chime in on my own behalf and my own gamine naivety that I think is basically film worthy.
It’s true. I eat candy and grilled cheeses almost every day and sometimes in multiples per day.
And much like Kim Kardashian’s ass before me, my self-reflection destroyed the Internet:
Many additional voices jumped in with feelings on ravioli, no one was on my side. Not a soul. And then in a shocking twist of irony, the very lunchroom – site of twice a day grilled cheeses – decided to put this out for lunch.
I then brought my parents into the debate. To the best of my knowledge they’re Italian food loving asses would be the best judge on pasta.
This is my father’s response:
To give you some context of this email: my father is a great man who I love dearly. However, he is also the person that in response to the news that I got him Yankees tickets and that I love that he’s my dad responded, “wow!” I think I can count the things he’s said he’s loved on one hand. Evidently not only does ravioli makes the list – it makes the list in all caps.
My mom acted just like you’d expect my mom to:
I decided to go to South Philly to get ravioli because, I don’t know. It seemed like the place to go (somewhere in the Italian market). I won’t share the name of the place because I don’t want anyone to think that destination influenced decisions. Despite the whole going to South Philly thing…whatever. They were homemade. Or handmade? Like not frozen is what I’m getting at.
I tried to get the person I was there with to take a photo of the blessed event but he was crazy stoned and started getting insanely paranoid about using a smart phone in public because he doesn’t own one or know how to use them. So this was the result. I’d like everyone to know that I showered for this occasion and you can’t even tell. Fuck a job.
Dude…I’m not getting it. I know that I’ve missed out on some seriously important things in life that I eventually came around to, but are my taste buds corrupted from too many years of persistent candy eating? I mean, they’re just pockets of dough filled with crumbly ricotta – which no one likes. They’re not repugnant like relish or pancakes, but they weren’t delicious like welsh rarebit or Diet Cokes. Maybe if they were filled with welsh rarebit or diet soda I’d be, like, “oh heyyyyyyy sorta adorable looking pasta thing!”
Do I need a do-over? Or not restaurant ravioli? Bigger question – do I need many people to make me many different kinds of ravioli?
In the end I treated myself to a cannoli. I gave myself a boxing name (Janie ‘the cannoli’ Cannarella), and then just ate all of the cream and whipped cream.
I used to work for a legitimate crazy person at her home office, which is a horse of different color. But one day these two super-hot dudes came to her door and said they were selling books. So instantly suckered into their little web of deceit, my boss and I bought like $45 worth of books. Fun side note, the grimier one of the dudes gave me his number in case I needed my, “lawn trimmed” (his words, not mine).
After six months, it became apparent that two jerk-offs ripped off an old (crazy) lady and a young girl. No books appeared. However, I did start receiving a subscription to Gourmet Magazine that I never requested or paid for.
Because sometimes the universe rewards you by being ripped off by someone who you thought was flirting with you with a magazine that you’ve never been interested in, used, or really read. And then it further rewards you by sending you William Sonoma catalogues for two years following, assumedly because of it. Thanks, universe!
And something similar happened to my best friend Shawn recently:
I really appreciate how Dunkin Donuts encourages their patrons to share various Dunkin-related stories. Historically it’s always worked out well for me (see here and here) and I’m glad that the organization cares so much about my welfare and general habits to inquire about #mydunkin.
My story involves being an office temp at a job where I get to watch the full-time employees enjoy perks such as the boss bringing in a cardboard gallon of Dunkin Donuts coffee for them. And after, when the full-time employees are throwing a party with a specific note on the door that says “FULL-TIME EMPLOYEES ONLY” I decided to take several of the unused Dunkin cups, go into the secret party room filled with food and paid sick leave, and filled them with mac n cheese. So I guess #mydunkin involves pilfering food and cups from my office superiors and hiding at my temporary desk while eating it.