Happy Anniversary.

22 Feb

I am now eclipsing my 300th blog. I think that calls for celebration. Why don’t you all organize some sort of a surprise release party behind my back, and then I’ll act surprised when I arrive. Just a few suggestions: include red wine, havarti cheese, disco lighting, maybe some hip hop music. Only invite people I like. To simplify that, don’t invite ethnic minorities, Tyra Banks, and limit the number of Jews in attendance.

Ha, kidding. La jaheim.

I like to picture Black Friday as a giant safari animal fight. People staked outside in line like lions, ready to strike as soon as the door is opened; stampeding like rhinoceroses through the store, charging through the aisles to get to the digital cameras, Vita-Mixers, and Dora The Explorer figurines; foaming at the mouth like rabid hyenas, snarling and growling and snapping at each other in competition to get discount iPhones and Blackberries, bludgeoning each other with their enormous purses like pissed off male silverback gorillas, exploding with testosterone during mating season, swearing and yelling and spitting. It’s a zoo, a wicked zoo.

I personally like to spend my Black Friday in bed, until at least 10, sometimes 11. Then I get up, heat up a nice mug of gravy for myself, and eat strawberry pie for breakfast. I leisurely pull up my web browser and do some online shopping (I got two down, a million to go). No pulled hair, no black eyes, no broken bones, or sleep deprivation, and free shipping! Chaos is not something I need with a belly as full as mine. I can barely move, let alone sprint through a department store and trapeze over clothing racks to gather Christmas gifts galore. Count me out.

You know what blows my mind? Recipes. The fact that people put random ass ingredients like vinegar, flour, butter, milk, and baking soda together, whip them up, and decide to then bake it in the oven at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for a particular amount of time and then take them out, cover them with more random ass ingredients and then eat them are ridiculous. How much trial and error does someone have to go through to strike gold? I can’t even begin to imagine how many ceramic-flavored dinner rolls and Play Dough-tasting bundt cakes came along before they created the delicious white birthday cake that we know and love today. Talk about trial-by-fire. I’m glad Betty Crocker and Mr. Pillsbury took the time to figure that shit out, because I simply don’t have the patience.

Inflatable decorations. People that display enormous, inflatable decorative Rudolphs and Frostys in their front lawn are asking juvenile delinquents to come stick a steak knife in their stomach and deflate them like a sad birthday balloon. Putting blow-up holiday decorations in your front yard is like leaving your house key on your doormat and leaving a note on the front door that reads, “The heirlooms and cash are in the walk-in closet. Take a cookie on the way out; I hope you like oatmeal-raisin. Happy holidays!” Why not just post an ad on Craig’s List? Just advertise that you’re interested in having a fifteen year old who’s drunk off two Mike’s Hard Lemonades to come destroy them. It’s a cold, hard world out there, folks.

So if you pay attention to these notes of mine at all, you might remember me earlier discussing my puzzlement at the shortcut link that my Weather Channel application suggested to me, directing me to the “Pilgrim Weather.” My newest suggestion? The North Pole. Why do I need to be aware of what kind of outdoor activities emperor penguins will be doing this afternoon? It’s not like I need to know whether Santa is going to be wearing a light jacket instead of a parka on Wednesday. Good grief.

How many names do you think they went through before the decided which fruit to name the Blackberry after? What is it about that dark little berry that makes it an appropriate name for a cell phone? Some guy named Steve sat at a large desk with a marker board and went over, “Bartlett pear? No. Pomegranate? Nah. Canteloupe? Blueberry–boisenberry—Uhhhh….Blackberry, yes, that’s it.” On that same note, why has it become so popular to name electronic devices after fruit? We’ve got Apple, Blackberry–what about the vegetables? Will I ever check my email or voice messages on a Radish, or Yukon Gold? And don’t forget the carb family. I wouldn’t hesitate to call my mom or check my Facebook updates on a phone named the Honeywheat or Baguette. Let the games begin.

WELL, time to go watch King of Queens with my man. Until next time, ciao.

“What are you, new?”


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