I feel like I've been channeling the ghost of Marlon Brando this weekend. Not the "good" Marlon Brando from On the Waterfront or Streetcar Named Desire, but the pudgy, pasty, fat assed Brando from that shitty movie he did with Matthew Broderick.
Starting Thursday night, I decided to take a few days off of the diet and eat whatever I wanted. Didn't I learn from the last time I did that all of a week ago? I feel all bloated and tired. I ate a Crispy Chicken Sandwich from Wendy's on Thursday; I a ton of meatloaf on Friday night (followed by a bunch of late night snacking); I ate a half a bag of Cheetos on Saturday (and a Quarter Pounder with Cheese at lunch--did you know that in France, they call the Quarter Pounder with Cheese a Royale with Cheese?).
Yesterday I ate 3 pieces of cake. THREE FUCKING PIECES OF CAKE! Although I feel bad about that, it was a delicious cake. Although on the surface the combination sounds weird, but it was damn tasty. It was a Butter Pecan Cake (Duncan Hines from the box) that I made almost homemade by adding a layer of caramelized pears (that were picked from my pear tree) and a homemade caramel sauce, and topped homemade caramel icing (which is just basically butter and brown sugar) and toasted, chopped walnuts. Damn my culinary skills.
Laurie told me to get back on the diet because I was fucking her's up since she has no self control. If I'm not eating right, the whole family is not eating right. I have such power! I...must...use...it...for...good...only. My kryptonite, however, is easily found. Fried puffs of flour covered in a nuclear orange substance. That fucking pimped out Tiger will kill me one day yet.
I'm sitting at work right now ON LABOR DAY. I work for the god damn United States Government, yet I'm at work on a FEDERAL HOLIDAY. I'm back at my "normal" office, supposedly helping out people that need money due to being displaced by the hurricane, but there are no people coming in the office right now. The phones haven't rang one time. The lobby of our crappy building is emptier than Britney Murphy's skull. My boss called me yesterday and said that they would be opening up today and asked if I wanted to come in. What am I supposed to say? "Uh, sorry, but I can't come in to help these homeless and helpless people get money. I plan on sitting around the living room in my boxers, drinking cheap Australian wine, covered in the remnants of a tasty, caramel pear cake while watching Cathouse On Demand from my free HBO weekend preview."
Well, apparently SOME people did because less than half of the people that work in my office are here today. Fucking douchebags. If I knew that I could have gotten away with that type of apathy, I'd be sitting at home working on the last half of my cake right now.
If I wasn't so poor and broke myself, I'd feel guilty that I'm sitting here in an empty office making $40 an hour (yay holiday premium pay!) to sit and wait for people to magically guess that our office is OPEN ON A FEDERAL HOLIDAY. If there were people in here that I could help, I really wouldn't mind it so much. But there is no one in sight. No one in the parking lot curiously driving around trying to see if we're open. No probing calls to see if they can get helped today. No stacatto taps of Morse Code on our pipes, tentatively waiting for our reply that yes, we are indeed open and ready to serve. What a brilliant plan to spontaneously OPEN ON A FEDERAL HOLIDAY without telling anyone or making any arrangements to let people know that we are OPEN ON A FEDERAL HOLIDAY.
- 9/6/2005 3:41:55 PM
What the FUCK is up with the red peppers? Why are there red peppers in ALL of the Smart Ones frozen dinners? For color? Must be because they taste like asshole.