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I had an ice cream sandwich for lunch.

17 May

I haven’t been blogging a lot this week, and I apologize to the three of you who give a shit.

I could throw excuses at you all day about how I’m so busy, I barely have time for lunch (which I always eat lunch), so I had to pick eating over blogging for Yummy Awesome.

Blah blah blah.

But I am taking a moment to tell you about my lunch today. My inner five-year old got her wish and had ice cream and cookies for lunch.

Because Dallas finally got a Cool Haus truck, and I just couldn’t resist.

Just to give you the basic idea of what they sell, you pick a cookie and then you pick an ice cream. Then you gorge.

I had  chocolate chip cookies (my favorite) lovingly cradling Nutella and almond ice cream. It was almost too decadent. But since it’s all that I ate, I managed to lick the last bit off of my fingers without being disgusted at myself.

Don’t tell my doctor.

The only time I looked happier was on my wedding day … probably while eating pie.

What I Ate Over My Pre-Summer Vacation

7 May

Last week, I took time off from writing.

That’s a half-truth. I did a little writing. But I did way more eating than working, trust me. Because that’s what time off is for, enjoying food again.

I probably ate my weight in Newman’s Own cookies. Are they healthy? Fuck no. No cookie is good for you, no matter how much cookie-diets tell you they are and how much non-dairy ingredients are subbed in.

I emptied a few containers of  coco dusted almonds. Enjoyed a bag or two of  sun-dried tomatoes from Natural Grocers. And made a mess around me with rice cakes (say they taste like nothing all you want, I love them).

I made margaritas. Real margaritas, not shitty margaritas you get from mix. I squeezed at least thirty limes and emptied a bottle of tequila into a pitcher and mixed it up with love (Contreau). They were exactly what margaritas are supposed to taste like. I even salted the rims of my fancy-pants margarita glasses.

And you know what? I got very drunk. And I’m okay with that.

I also mashed up some avocados for homemade guacamole. And I lovingly added a hint of garlic and salt. And more limes. Man, there were a ton of limes.

I’m having flashbacks now of great meals I had over my hiatus. But there was some icky food in there, too. But I’m going to focus on and release the good. And start writing again. I guess.

Release the good.

Serving Size: One Swimming Pool

24 Apr

When I was a kid, my favorite drink in the whole wide world was Cherry 7-Up.

My little sister and I drank way to much of it. You know, before the Internet made us hyper aware of how deadly soda can be for you. Although this may have been pre-high fructose corn syrup.

I digress.

We then came to the logical conclusion that if drinking Cherry 7-Up was so euphoric, swimming in it would be borderline ecstasy. So we dreamt of one day having jobs and enough money to fill our neighbor’s pool with Cherry 7-Up and doing cannonballs into the deep end.

When we’d share this fantasy with the other seven-to-nine year olds in our neighborhood, they all agreed that a pool full of soda would be the greatest thing in the world. The boy down the street wanted to fill his family’s pool with Dr Pepper. A girl from a few blocks over wanted to splash in Sprite. Then a boy down the alley blew us all away when he wanted to fill his dream pool with Mr. Pibb.

“Now pretend we’re in root beer!” someone would shout as we all sloshed around in the shallow end. Some kids would start cheering and others would jump out immediately while shouting, “Eww, root beer?”

“Now it’s Big Red!” another kid would yell as she leapt from the diving board with the grace of an ice cube before plopping into the Crystal Pepsi clear water.

When I tell people that this used to be my childhood, they usually stare at me funny. “Who would want a pool full of soda?” their eyes say. Sometimes they flat out tell me. “That’s fucked up.”

No, no it isn’t fucked up. It’s the fearless and admirable imagination of small children. And you know what, mother fuckers? Someday I’m going to get my swimming pool full of soda. And you can’t play in it.

Image stolen from the great Craig Cooper (craigcooper.com). Although this ad isn't a pool full of soda, per se, it's too good an image to not use. Click to visit his other advertising accomplishments. Click around enough and you'll see me advertising my boobs.

All of our food is killing us while keeping us alive.

18 Apr

Fruits are genetically engineered.

Meat isn’t really meat anymore.

Dairy is mainly  mushed up hormones … that are artificial!

Anything cooked is like poison to your body.

What the fuck is wrong here?

All of this stuff I’m ingesting from food safety documentaries, the press, my friends, rings true … to a certain point. But enough is enough.

Fine. I’ll try to buy local produce, since apparently an apple isn’t really an apple after five days. Or I just think it seems silly to ship the same items back and forth.

And I’ve already got my husband eating meat from hippie farmers instead of the big, nasty name brands. Because I don’t want his balls to fall off.

And I’ll even make sure some food isn’t heated over 130 degrees, or what the fuck ever it is, so they maintain ultimate vitamin content. Or maybe just because I think they taste better raw.

But I can’t keep track of all of the food news anymore. I can’t keep comparing all of the warring scientific studies. And I’m not learned enough, unfortunately, and government-funded enough to run my own fucking experiments and grow my own crops.

So I try to be an educated consumer. But now I may be over saturated instead.

I do think it’s fucked up that buying a few pieces of fruit at the grocery store costs more than a fast food burger. There’s no excuse for that. I do think it’s strange that we get our vegetables from thousands of miles away. And I’m not wild about the fact that most of the food I eat has been dipped in bleach or is coated with some lab-created membrane (that I only recently found out about).

I’d provide you with all of the frightening links, but I’m kind of at a loss where to start.

I eat food to stay alive. That’s the real reason to eat. Despite how delicious food can be, it is meant to keep us breathing. However, much of today’s food also seems to be … I don’t want to say “killing us,” because we’d sooner die of starvation not eating it … not keeping us in as good of condition as we could be in.

And this angry (and hungry) little food blogger doesn’t even know how to start fixing this dilemma.

 

“Five Pounds of Chocolate” or “How Did I Avoid the Freshman Fifteen?”

3 Apr

Vintage Queen of Awesome. Anyone who knows me know will be shocked by my hair.

While living in the dorms, Dr. Brew and I were the most popular chicks on our floor.

Because we had a mother fucking five pound Hershey bar.

A friend’s parents gave it to me for Christmas that year. And when word got around on our all-female floor that the second room from the end of the hall had all that chocolate, we got many visitors.

Many visitors.

We’d be sitting at our computers–probably playing the Sims instead of writing essays, probably IMing each other from across the room–and there’d be a knock at the door. We wouldn’t even have to guess what that person wanted.

We let whoever it was enter. They’d see the gigantic Hershey wrapper, and they’d drool. “Want a piece?” one of us would ask while the other one hacked at the chocolate with a dull-as-hell butter knife.

Because the answer was always yes.

The gigantic Hershey bar didn’t tast any different than a regular-sized bar or a Hershey Kiss. It was just novel and funny.

But even with the help of 60+ women (and a handful of guy friends, we weren’t sexist) all feigning for that massive mound of milk chocolate, it took almost the entire semester to get rid of it.

I honestly don’t think I’ve had a regular Hershey bar since.

 

The Blue Box Blues

20 Mar

First off, I can’t believe I actually found this commercial. I fucking love the Internet.

Second, I opened my pantry the other day to see a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese hanging out on the shelf with my polenta, almonds, and various jars of stuff.

I can’t remember the last time I had Kraft Mac & Cheese. Maybe in college? My freshman year is when Easy Mac entered the market. It was billed as a snack, but for Dr. Brew, PhD. and me (who were perpetually poor and always hungry … being 18 and in a dorm will do that to you), that shit was a meal. All we had to do was run down the hall to the community bathrooms, get just the right amount of water, dump it into the plastic Easy Mac cup, microwave, and … probably get some sort of disease. There’s no way it was good for us.

But we ate it all the damn time.

And we’re both still alive.

Anyway, since I’ve become an adult (note: ha!), my palate has become a bit more discriminating, and microwaving plastic scares me to death (although the inside of the microwave is plastic–what the fucking fuck?).

If I’ve eaten macaroni and cheese as of late, it’s been with cream and cheese–not the powdered stuff from a blue box. But truth be told, I haven’t even made macaroni and cheese in years.

So staring at that blue box brought back some fond memories of standing on a stool in my mom’s kitchen. Throwing a dollup of sour cream into the bowl (because Mom says that made it better). And then probably eating the entire box because a kid knows dick about serving size.

Holding the box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese in my hands, I directed a question to the King of Awesome, who had now joined me in the kitchen.

“Why’d you get this?”

“I thought we could treat ourselves,” he answered, followed by a little hug.

It was so cute and so sweet, but I still eyeballed the ingredients on the box fearing what I’d find. But then I decided to relax. One powdered packet of cheese isn’t going to kill me.

Plus, that shit is good.

Don’t sue over spilt popcorn.

8 Mar

Some man (read: asshat) in Livonia, MI, sued an AMC theatre because of a movie snack tab. Various articles report he paid eight dollars for popcorn and a soda. Some say popcorn and Goobers. Some say that he didn’t buy anything but was pissed he couldn’t bring in outside eats.

But they all said he hired a lawyer and is suing. Over popcorn.

Are you fucking kidding me? We all know popcorn is delicious. We all know movie snacks are expensive—they have to be! Theatres don’t make tons of money on the actual ticket prices, after all. Their profits come from the sugary and salty treats.

But even still, to sue? Over a Lincoln and some Washingtons?

This is why people hate our country. Because we’re fucking brats with swizzle sticks up our asses.

“He got tired of being taken advantage of,” the asshat’s lawyer told the the Detroit Free Press. “It’s hard to justify prices that are three and four times higher than anywhere else.”

Louis Vuitton handbags cost like a thousand times more than the cheap handbag I schlep around, and you don’t see me crying blood all over the place.

Besides, has this guy even tasted movie theatre popcorn? It’s like crunchy pieces of angel wings. It’s totally worth the upcharge in my humble opinion.

Mmm. Maybe it’s time to go see a movie.

Oh, so that's why movie popcorn is so expensive.

The Dangers of a Chocolate Fountain

28 Feb

Cockatiels love them the fuck out of some chocolate.

I saw this picture on Comixed and, no joke, laughed so hard I started crying. And then I had an asthma attack.

I could have died, I laughed with such passion.

Cause the little bird is all like, “Fuck it. I’m going to drink some fucking chocolate from the fountain like a boss.”

Homebird just checks it out, assesses, and then goes for it.

Holy shit. It’s awesome.

 

UPDATE:

Turns out this is a cropped series of images from the movie “Jack and Jill” with Adam Sandler. The video isn’t as funny as these screencaps, though. So let’s pretend it never happened.

This is the funniest thing that has ever happened ever.

V-Day has nothing to do with vegetarianism.

14 Feb

Valentine’s Day is all about love, right?

Love between lovers. Love between friends. Love between man and candy.

I have the first two covered, but the third one breaks my heart. Because many of the best Valentine’s treats are not veggie-friendly.

Cue the saddest fucking violins to ever play music.

One of my favoritest (yep, it’s a word now) Valentine’s candies is Necco Sweethearts. You know the ones with little saying on them. They’re also called conversation hearts.

Well, they’re chock full of gelatin.

I haven’t had a Sweetheart in years. And I miss them like an old friend. Especially the white ones because they had a hint of mint flavoring.

Sure, I could probably cheat and eat them in my closet when my husband is away and no one would ever know. But I can’t do that. Because the guilt would consume me quicker than I could down a box of those tiny, sugary hearts.

It’s okay, though. This tiny box of gelatin-free chocolates will have to sate my sweet tooth for now. And at 10 AM, I’ve already eaten five of those.

Gelatin ruins every holiday.

Never again shall you have to pause your video game to eat.

26 Jan

Hey, Xbox players, good news! If you like Hot Pockets, gluttony, and Halo but weren’t sure how to fuse them all together without coming up for air, here’s the product for you!

(There’s supposed to be a video here, but the HTML is buggered. And I don’t know enough HTML to fix it. So click on the following link if you don’t see the player.)

http://revision3.com/html5player-v10633

So this guy, Ben Heck, mods Xboxes. And he had the idea to create an Xbox 360 (pronounced three-sixty for you non-gamers) controller that holds a Hot Pocket. And dispenses it!

Do you read excitement in my words! Because you’d be wrong. I’m disgusted!

Probably because I’m a PlayStation fan and I think Hot Pockets are just gigantic Totino’s Pizza Rolls. Which are also gross.

Bagel Bites, on the other hand, were genius and responsible for me getting through middle school.

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