Every single day I promise to eat lunch at my office like a normal office drone that brown paper bags it. In an effort to not grow to the size of a planet with my advancing age, in my imagination those lunches are always ridiculously healthy: beet salads and the like.
that right there is a bagel with cream cheese topped with Cheez Its
But I just have such a hard time keeping promises to myself. Maybe I’ll just start going to the gym instead?
A while ago I had shared a picture of the inside of my fridge, stocked with the essentials. I would hyperlink to that entry, but I don’t know how and I don’t feel like looking it up. Essentially it was a sad picture of an empty fridge with a tall boy in it; look through the posts: it was quality stuff.
Let’s re-visit the once empty fridge, brimming with the potential to be filled…
…With garbage.
I don’t really know the genesis of the garbage fridge, though I believe it started inauspiciously enough. Perhaps I had some leftover pizza that I kept in the box and would pull out slice by slice, until the only thing left was an empty box. And then, of course, I am massively busy working a soul sucking job and memorizing the “rap” part of Spice Girls’ Wannabe
Slam your body down and wind it all around!
I am way too busy to say, buy a garbage can.
who needs one? I have a fridge?
Like most things in my life that spiral wildly out of control, I would make myself daily promises. “Today I will clean out my fridge.” “Today I will buy a garbage can.” “Today I will pay off my creditors.” However, as day slowly ebbs into night, thoughts would change to things like, “if I leave the remains of this microwave dinner on the counter the cats will get it…I’ll temporarily put it in the fridge.”
And then a slow evolution occurs wherein the fridge becomes a warzone of garbage; where do I put actual food? However, a fun game also occurs.
I like to call it, “what did I use to be?”
Who knows?!
According to the sell by date, this just celebrated its sixth month birthday. Happy birthday, baby, oh the places you’ll go!
Trying to fight the tides of the fridge garbage seems as futile as, say, trying to get the earth to change its rotation. Meaning, it might happen one day, but that will only be because the mold taking over the inside will become sentient and want a change of scenery. Who knows? I might be housing the future creatures to roam this world after the robot apocalypse renders humans obsolete.
I would start leaving sacrifices to the fridge if I were you…
Filed under food, horrifying
There were two men that introduced me to a pleasure that was so extreme that it resulted in full body ecstasy, tears of joy, and post-bliss bedwetting. And they were armed with an aphrodisiac more powerful than rophenal or Mexican fly.
Those two men were:
I definitely want something of yours inside me.
And their weapon:
Close enough
To clarify: it was White Russian ice cream by Messrs Ben & Jerry, in case you thought it was Jeff Bridges flavored ice cream.
I am not lying, when it comes to the mystical magical nature of this ice cream: it’s like all of life’s happiness broken down into dairy and sugar. There would be no hesitation if given the option between orgasms and White Russian ice cream; the ice cream is better than any orgasm I have ever had. Consuming White Russian ice cream has given me a more sacred experience than I received in eighteen years of private parochial education.
And like everything that makes me happy, one day White Russian ceased to exist.
The resting ground for everything good in this world
Who is that I see in this bullshit graveyard?
Oh right, the only thing in this fucking world that brought me joy.
A well adjusted person would move on and potentially find a different ice cream to enjoy.
Love means never accepting the limitations of death.
But since I never claimed to be well adjusted, or mentally sound, I started emailing the website pretty frequently (twice a month).
When faced with defeat some people might be satisfied with just writing to the email suggestion page that B&J have on their page. And then, when nothing comes from it those same people might not, say, start an aggressive letter writing campaign.
But, I have more time and less to live for than normal people. So, I started writing the company letters.
Here is the first one
(OBEY MY COMMANDS BEN & JERRY)
Dear whoever has taken over for Ben and Jerry,
It has been a few weeks since I’ve written to the company, but I am back with more vim and verve than ever. For awhile I had been writing on a weekly basis with little to no luck pertaining to a topic dear to me. I was disheartened and gave up the crusade, but now I believe that my lack of success might have been due to the former Ben & Jerry’s inability to tackle every issue that might be brought to the company’s attention.
But now, while Messrs Ben & Jerry are enjoying their retirement, I feel that a corporation might be more willing to handle my, meager though important, requests (demands).
White Russian.
That is all. Bring back White Russian ice cream. I can detail why this is so important and how it will bring about even greater financial success for this company.
1. A great part of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream is that they were among the first to start loading ice cream, already an unhealthy treat, full of candy. I have not experienced a B & J ice cream that didn’t ensure me a sugar high and future trip to the dentist. But Ben & Jerry’s is all about pushing the envelope, like a ice cream version of Madonna! It is so important to reinvent one’s self and what better way to do that then to offer the complete opposite of what made the ice cream so wonderful to begin with; no candy. Just smooth sailing ice cream that wasn’t chocolate or vanilla. Brilliant move! It was what drew me to this flavor to begin with and I am sure that others are with me; Ben and Jerry should offer something that isn’t the equivalent to an entire floor at Willy Wonka’s factory but isn’t as boring as chocolate or vanilla.
2. Use this flavor as some sort of social change. I completely support all of the honorable social efforts that this company so deeply values. I value them too! Only I would value them MORE if I could eat White Russian at the same time. There has GOT to be some sort of cause, social or otherwise, that can be linked with this ice cream. Think deeply, be creative. Give twenty five cents from every White Russian sold to a favorite charity or have it benefit US and Russian relations. Use the money to send disenfranchised American students toRussiato see their way of life and vice versa. You guys iron out the details, but I think we have something here.
3. Get the Coen brothers in on this! Use your vast resources and get them to somehow name drop this flavor. What better publicity for Ben & Jerry’s than two academy award winning brothers discussing an ice cream flavor based off the favorite drink of one of their most famous characters, the Dude? Or get Jeff Bridges to do it, the Dude with the ice cream. I don’t know how far the B & J cash goes but I think by getting a celebrity endorsement White Russian ice cream doesn’t have to stop with just ice cream; I see tote bags and t-shirts in the company’s future.
I think I have made some very valid points on how important White Russian ice cream is to the future of Ben & Jerry’s and I hope you strongly consider bringing back this flavor.
If I don’t hear from you in a week you can be sure that I will write another email.
All of my love,
*As of now, I have not heard back from the company pertaining to my demands. *
After a long night of listening to Liono (https://youlifeisnotsogreat.wordpress.com/2011/12/28/some-people-have-children/ ) playing with bottle caps I woke up early (noon) to get my weekend fix of fried potatoes and hot sauce.
And right outside my doorstep I ran into this guy:
You life is not so NASCAR
I don’t know exactly how to feel about Dale Earnhardt Jr. hanging out in the front of my apartment surrounded by empty cans of Natty Ice.
But, I’m not surprised.
Filed under beer, cats, food, horrifying, Uncategorized
Sometimes a lady just needs to reward herself for a Tuesday well-done. It’s extremely important to romance one’s self, and, at “You Life,” self-romancing is done right.
The first rule of self-congratulations is treat yourself to your favorite dinner. So, after work, I set off to get my absolute favorite Tuesday meal:
Tuesday night: the perfect night for a lemon meringue doughnut and five dollar wine.
The best thing about being an adult is that I can drink my calories and pretend that it is a fancy enjoyment by coupling it with an overpriced doughnut!
However, no matter how hard you work, there is always someone that wants to keep you down, take advantage of your generosity, and shit all over your night of pampering.
George. It was George that wanted to shit all over my night of self-romancing.
What happened was that, in my wine-provoked state of liberality, I gave George a taste of his favorite treat. This mofo LOVES doughnuts. The first picture was of him lovingly tasting the meringue. The second picture was going to be of me enjoying the doughnut; instead, it turned into a candid of George trying to hit me in the face to get the rest of the sweets. And, since I suffered the face battery, he won.
That ended the meal portion of the night. Undeterred, I moved onto other self-spoiling activities, like lighting candles and setting up a hot bath to enjoy.
This is how I have to prepare for a bath:
Put the stopper in.
in case you can’t tell, that is a shot glass
Fill with hot water.
That is a tea kettle filled with hot water since I only get an average of three minutes of hot water, which generally is enough time to fill my tub with less than two inches of mostly tepid water
After a fruitless fifteen minute search for candles to put around the tub, I soaked my work-exhausted limbs in the luke-warm water…
...until Liono jumped into the bathtub shortly after this picture was snapped
That pretty much ended the whole night.
There are certain ways that I like to celebrate the end of the work week. My favorite, by far, is drinking Mickey’s grenades with my bearded boyfriend at our favorite bar.
It’s like Mickey’s normal 40oz and St. Patrick’s day had an adorable baby: an adorable, malt liquor, baby.
Then, I like to follow up those grenades with a bottle of white wine, chicken lo mein, and dancing to “Moves like Jagger” in my living room while “That Thing You Do!” plays on the VHS in the background.
It’s boyfriend’s favorite movie, and I love him despite that.
The next morning, I like to get up late and walk to the local 7-ll to get my life’s blood (yellow Gatorade). All of these things are a blissfully normal routine for us, except something strange happened this week that was significantly different.
I had donned my laziest weekend attire and set off for my destination.
a green overcoat with my Power Puff girl pajama pants and flats with flowers on them.
En route I encountered a rowdy group of “Jesus Saves” people. They were nice enough and enthusiastically jolly, so I stopped while they were frantically yelling at me. Had it been angry zealots I would have moved right along, but these people seemed to be a combination of happy and brief. They handed me my pamphlet,
Good question!
and then the amazingly disturbing thing happened. They handed me a blanket…because they thought I was homeless.
An unused blanket that I could make into a tent in which to live.
At first I felt the need to explain: I’m lazy; I live next door to 7-11; I have no reservations about looking like a slob on a Saturday afternoon; I do, in fact, rent a home. But then I thought about how cold my apartment is and how my current blanket is looking a bit rough.
I took the blanket.
So I took the pamphlet and blanket, put my Gatorade in my pocket, and proceeded to Dunkin Donuts where the man behind the counter also thought I was homeless (but in his case he was just frightened; no free salt bagels and coffee there).
As it turns out Jesus did indeed save me a trip to the store and money for a blanket. Thanks Jesus!
I find cooking for the workplace to be one of the most difficult tasks of the week: more difficult than getting out of bed or dressing myself. It is even more difficult than showering without a shower curtain.
So how can one create a meal for the work day? Easy! Along with my ability to negotiate loan re-payment plans, I am something of a culinary genius when it comes to crafting the perfect meal for a busy work week.
Here are my tips:
Step 1: Press the snooze button on the alarm five to ten times. Given that the snooze lasts for five minutes, that means you could potentially over-sleep anywhere between 25 minutes to an hour late. You have sacrificed getting up early and making a meal in order to be well rested. Good for you.
Step 2: Get into work.
Step 3: Be overcome with hunger around noon. Stagger to the machines in the lunch room. These machines, which I suspect have become sentient, spin and display a veritable feast of simulated food. If one was hoping to eat a simulation of a beef burrito, then this machine would be the place to go
Step 4: Give machine a ridiculous amount of money.
Step 5: Take meal, in this case Hormel’s instant chili mac’ n’ cheese, and microwave it until it becomes a bubbling volcano of a lunch item.
Step 6: While mystery lunch meat with macaroni (no cheese to be found) is microwaving, go to other vending machine.
Step 7: Get Fritos®
Step 8: Take “food” back to desk. Open bag of Fritos® dump them on top of the chili.
Step 9: Eat with a spoon, like a shovel piling empty calories and sadness into your mouth.
Step 10: Give up on yourself.
You life is not so great 