Breakfast.

Oh, you don't want advice from me; I ate a Three Musketeers bar for breakfast.

~Liz Lemon

I was quite the responsible citizen, breakfast-wise, for a while at my new job. I genuinely love oatmeal, and not even the kind where each oat is covered with twenty pounds of brown sugar ™Marilla, though that's good too. But I'm happiest with some good old-fashioned Quaker® Oats, with a little bit of butter melted in. It's about as healthy as comfort food gets, and just a really great breakfast. I did had to write my name on the box with a Sharpie, so while I was at it, I made Mr. Quaker look like the V for Vendetta dude, to rebel against the system of course, but other than that, I really committed to my mundane new routine. And no one even stole my butter like at Welcome Wagon!

However, I ran out of oatmeal. Logically, it would then stand to reason that I would buy more oatmeal. But no. I've been out of it for weeks now, and I've made do. This morning, for example, I am eating Andy Capp Hot Fries and drinking a can of Diet Coke, and sitting here as living proof that a healthy balanced breakfast can be yours no matter what the situation. All you have to do is think outside the box!

Holy crap, I am so sorry. Seriously, I hate that expression so much and if you ever say it to me unironically I will have to punch you in the face. Consider yourself warned. And with no further ado, I present...



Things I Have Eaten For Breakfast


Crunchy Cheez Doodles and Pepsi
No one understands those five words better than Babz. This was my morning-after-karaoke breakfast every week after Willie's. Not going drinking until three in the morning was not an option. The neon orange cheese was soothing; the crunchy...stuff did a lovely job sopping up the whiskey and Hefeweizen, and the Pepsi gave me just the proper jolt to be obnoxiously hyper when Babz was cranky, only to wake her up so she'd be hyper, then I'd crash somewhere around 10 am and spend the rest of the day smoking cigarettes and bitching about how tired I was.


Cheez-Its® and Water
Sometimes I was in the mood for a change of pace and wanted a grownup breakfast. Cheez-Its were the perfect alternative to crunchy Cheez Doodles -- still cheesy, but since they are crackers, they feel like a more substantial meal. Also, the beads of salt on top are really awesome, and when the crackers are gone, you are left eating just powdered cheese and salt. That's the best part.

Two things to note regarding this, though: a) you cannot substitute Cheese Nips. They are puffy, and the salt to cracker ratio is much less impressive. Too much air. And b) water seems less exciting than Pepsi, but is much better with the Cheez-Its. Something about the salt, and the bubbles, and the sugar, just don't mesh right.


Stale puffy Cheez Doodles with leftover dip.
Look, I'm just reporting the facts, and the fact is that this is a very convenient breakfast the day after a party. Everything is just sitting there right in front of you on your kitchen table.


Beer.
'Nuff said.


Babyback ribs and a Bloody Mary.
This was the day I got laid off from GEM. No connection, I wasn't drinking at work (that day), and we parted on lovely terms, after which all my friends in Creative took me to Houston's while we cried.


Blackened catfish.
Everyone looked at me like I was weird, eating blackened catfish first thing in the morning, but the bottom line is, I was hungry and working at Red Lobster and thought blackened catfish would be lovely. And it was!


Tequila and eggs.
When you decide to comfort your friend Meredith-Grey style, there is a good chance that you will still not be sober the next morning. At which point maybe your friend's sister is cooking breakfast because your friend's sisters are a bunch of Rachel Rays, without all the annoying traits. So there will be the eggs, and there will be the toast, and there will be the tequila, and there will be Bert. Warning: this breakfast might make you cry at not only a Rob Thomas song, but also a Daughtry song, so be prepared.





©2008

I Was Burning Incense Since You Were In Diapers!

Can I just take a moment to bitch about a certain type of girl that I hate?

It's not what you think. We all know how I feel about the crusty Mulcahey's "blonde" chicks, and the orange leatherfaces unleashing hell in Plainview bagel shops, but that is more of a societal thing. Like, their existence and being considered "hot" is part of a larger-scale problem for which I blame Bunim-Murray Productions in many ways.

No, the type of girl that I hate is the bored hippie chick.

*GASP!*

Now now hold on, I know I am a hippie chick too in many ways, and I of course am awesome. But I'm talking about this certain hippie chick that has ALWAYS GIVEN ME GRIEF!!! Like, I got out of high school and realized that I most certainly did not want to hang out with "the cheerleader" or "the student body government person," which is what I "was" in high school.

I wanted to hang out at the Brick Cafeteria at Nassau, not the Cactus Café on the quad. I wanted musicians; I wanted love; I wanted hackey sacks and the idea that art can be found at any given point in time. I still do.

But the thing is that I kind of was a cheerleader. You can't yell and jump around and do cartwheels and splits for six years and not have that affect you. But I was never a bitch, and I really was nice to everyone and not even in a fake way. So I really was not expecting the chilly reception from my soon-to-be arch nemesis: The Girl On The Couch.

Every hippie/musician/et al. group has at least one. She wears baggy clothes, likely from the "Salllvo" and melds into the sofa unless there's a beanbag chair around, and probably knows how to play a little guitar, enough to cover for the fact that she is essentially a non-sexual groupie.

But see, I thought that was awesome! I'd rather have lots of variety in the people around me, always. Until I quickly realized that to this chick? I would always be the cheerleader. I wore "gross" makeup (only Chap-Stick isn't gross, that's the rule), and did my nails (that's for dumb girls), and brushed my hair once in a while (sellout) and didn't own a single newsboy cap. Oh yeah, and I had boobs. What the hell do you want me to do about that? So in other words, I may as well have been Lacey Chabert in "Mean Girls," as far as she was concerned.

Which pissed me off. But I accepted it as a rite of passage that would be temporary.

So I REALLY REALLY don't appreciate how sometimes I still get treated like that by the all-grown-up versions of The Girl On The Couch. Like for ONE thing, everyone really needs to stop listening to NPR if it means insisting on talking that inflection-is-for-losers-kind-of-way, I mean I'm SO SORRY to startle you from perpetual ennui, but let's LOOK ALIVE, PEOPLE!

I'm in my thirties. I'm so over The Girl On The Couch. And in case you're still unclear as to how that translates to The Now, I'm talking about that chick who somewhere along the line become completely misanthropic towards everyone but those whom she deems worthy of her oh-so-cool company. The chick who assumes I could never be worthy of said company, because I still try to enjoy my life, my body, my freedom from the ridiculousness that was my twenties. To this person, I will always be the bimbo cheerleader, and she will always be the droner on the couch who got to the fun boys first, and now I'm threatening her territory.

So yeah, that sucks, but I could deal with it nowadays. It did throw me a bit in 2004 when I found out one of my friends AND my boss were calling me Barbie behind my back. But whatever, their judgment, their loss. However, I still cannot abide how The Girl On The Couch still, to this day, assumes she is just so so much smarter than me. It just happened now, in case you were wondering what inspired this. I can't say too much, but there is a woman that I work with who obviously hasn't the slightest amount of respect for me, because I know she thinks I'm a dumb 22-year-old who thinks only of feathers, flowers, and fairy dust.

Fuck that noise. I could be much more help to her if she'd understand that I'm a HELL of a lot smarter than I seem. I've said for awhile, I don't blame people who think I'm dumb when they first meet me. But if they still think I'm stupid after they get to know me? They're the dumb ones.

Why do people judge each other in such set in stone ways, even after all these years? And can any of my hippie/musician friends fill me in as to what the fuck The Girl On The Couch's problem is? Because I've got a job to do, and don't have energy for this college bullshit.





©2008

You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore

So I have a few things I need to get off my chest. Heh. About Valentine's Day.

Okay, joking is over now and here is where I need to yell at people, because if I can save one Valentine's Day for one person out there, I will have done my job.

I was reading a blog yesterday, and I have no beef at all with her blog, but I definitely have beef with some of the comments, not because of what they SAID, but because of...what they said.

LISTEN UP. Are you one of those charmers who bitches and moans about how you don't "do" Valentine's Day because it's a Hallmark holiday and you don't need someone telling you when to treat your significant other (SO) right.

Are you?

Because I can end your righteous indignation at me by saying, that's totally fine. I even sort of agree with you in ways. But it's only cool if your SO feels the same way.

It's one day a year. One day a year and even back in the day I could understand not doing flowers because I'm hardpressed to think of a more sensory-overwhelming task than waiting on line in Wick's on Valentine's Day, but now with all the Internet sites available, heck, even gas stations and supermarkets -- you can do SOMEthing without inconveniencing your precious hate-the-man time too much.

Well, they up the price of roses. Sure. So get birds of paradise; get irises; get tulips -- but get something.

Maybe your girl's not into flowers, which is cool. Get her candy. Get her a bracelet from a flea market. SOMEthing.

And get a card.

This goes not for people who just started dating, which is a tricky situation that needs to be taken not too seriously although I do think a rose and a funny card is nice there, but for people in established relationships. For people especially who say "I love you" and/or have sex.

Because it's one day. And because you can. And because you should. You don't have to be Bob Vance, but you DO have to not be Roy, if you hear what I'm saying. To not give anything to your SO on Valentine's Day is thoughtless and unnecessarily cruel.

Yes, cruel.

Because it's one day.

And in case you were wondering how Stephanie's blog fits in, or why I'm so riled up, this is not for myself. This is for all the women who posted comments talking about how they'd be shocked if their husband remembered Valentine's Day, and how they haven't gotten flowers in forty years. That sort of thing.

SO.

WRONG.

Cultural traditions have varying degrees of importance, but they are cultural traditions, Hallmark or otherwise. Meaning, why would you shun a day that fakey or not, is a day dedicated to celebrating love and romance?

That said, I also believe (and I realize I'm gender stereotyping fast and furious, but I'm trying to make a point) that women need to not be spoiled harpies on Valentine's Day. It's not a contest, or a race, or anything like that. Who cares what your friend got for Valentine's Day; did the efforts of your SO make you smile? That's what should matter. Not the cost of what you got, but the effort and love behind it.

I'm set. I have a boyfriend who's great on Valentine's Day. Last year, he sent me two-dozen long-stemmed roses and that was awesome. But no less special was the year before, when we were unestablished but dating, when he gave me one rose and a card and teddy bear and took me out to dinner.

Which brings me to my main point. We didn't make plans that first year for dinner, because we were so new and weren't officially boyfriend and girlfriend, and it was a weeknight anyway. So when the time came to choose a restaurant, we had to actively look for an unromantic restaurant at which to eat. I'm a waitress; I know the clusterfuck that Valentine's Day can be at a restaurant.

So we went to Famous Dave's BBQ.

And it was awesome.

And now that is our tradition -- we get dressed up as if for a fancy restaurant and go to a blessedly uncrowded place and get unfrazzled service, and have an awesome time.

So I'm not yelling at guys to pony up a king's ransom for one day a year. I'm yelling at the guys who take their women for granted. And vice versa: ladies, your SO is not your piggy bank or your Daddy Warbucks; so don't act like it.

But celebrate a day of love, if you are lucky enough to have it. And if you're not in love, you can still get in the spirit! Give flowers to your friends and family; have a horror-moviefest with your other single friends -- it's all good.

You don't have to be with someone to have love in your life. But if you do? Treat them special.






©2008