"As I think I told you, I wrote it five years ago, in Paris, on the implement called bidet as a writing desk--because we lived in one room and I had to use our small bathroom as a study." -vn
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Today was a fucking gorgeous day
You know what I fucking love?
Cheesecake.
I test the limits of this love almost daily. Such as: yesterday I decided that stealing a small child was not outside of the realm of things I would do to acquire cheesecake. Now I know where naysayers would put this on their social etiquette lists (very, very far away), but I have my reasons. In fact, let me tell you my reasons in anecdotal form.
I was walking home from work yesterday, and it was a fucking gorgeous day (I made the subject title yesterday, but today is also a fucking gorgeous day PUNCHBUG). I wanted to stop at the abodega* to get some Excedrin because, despite the gorgeousness of the weather, I had such an intense pain that it was incurable-without-overdoses-of-caffeine-pills-frontin'-themselves-as-headache-meds. But as I neared the bodega where I would usually stop on my way home from work, I thought, the weather's nice enough to go to Treasure Island for this, and ALSO THEY HAVE CHEESECAKE THERE BECAUSE TREASURE ISLAND IS THE MOST EUROPEAN SUPERMARKET AND THEY HAVE CHEESECAKE IN EUROPE.
As I skipped along, past the bodega and the naysayers of happiness-by-artificial-sweetened-means, I thought to myself JESUS CHRIST I AM GETTING CHEESECAKE I AM SO EXCITED IT WILL BE SO GOOD AND WILL BE CHEESECAKE.
Compared to the walk to the store, the cheesecake-selection process was rather tame. The cheesecake was there, the woman carefully wrapped it, I did not scream or yell out with joy, but merely allowed my thudding heart to do all of my talking for me. (Except for 'slice of cheesecake', and 'thank you' because I read Emily Post.) I had my fucking cheesecake and I was so happy with it that I didn't even need the Excedrin anymore. My headache had disappeared on account of love. love and bliss.
On my way home, I noticed a little girl walking 10-12 paces behind her mother and younger sister. Whenever I see children like this, I am tempted to steal them. Mainly because, like, what would their mothers even do? What if I just said, "whoops, thought this one belonged to me," and kept whistling the Andy Griffith theme? That would hurt their fucking heads. You don't want to tackle a stranger, even if she did just try to abduct your daughter. "No harm, no foul"?
But what if she didn't even notice? I don't want the responsibility of a kid, but I more don't want the responsibility of being a criminal. It's a great life for certain people. Bumming on your friends' couches, building meth labs in abandoned RVs, etc. etc. It's possible I get all of my criminal knowledge from Breaking Bad, so what? IT'S A GOOD SHOW THE KID IS SO CONVINCING I WANNA BE A CANCER-RIDDEN DRUG MAKER, TOO, MOMMY.
So I decided not to steal the kid. But then, as I was passing her, I saw her eying my cheesecake box. Here's the thing, little kid: step off. This is my cheesecake. I have big plans for this cheesecake. I am going to get a fork and open up the cheesecake box and GO TO TOWN. This is no ordinary birthday cake. THIS IS CHEESECAKE, AND CHEESECAKE DON'T FOOL AROUND, LITTLE KID. Step. the motherfudge. off.
This thought made me angry enough to overrule my previous thought that I didn't want to be a criminal. If a little kid tried to steal my cheesecake, it is not outside the realm of reason that I would steal him and just run. Start running and not stop until the police knocked me over. Even then I would beg to finish my cheesecake before being hauled off to jail.
So that is why you don't mess with a woman's desert.
Cheesecake.
I test the limits of this love almost daily. Such as: yesterday I decided that stealing a small child was not outside of the realm of things I would do to acquire cheesecake. Now I know where naysayers would put this on their social etiquette lists (very, very far away), but I have my reasons. In fact, let me tell you my reasons in anecdotal form.
I was walking home from work yesterday, and it was a fucking gorgeous day (I made the subject title yesterday, but today is also a fucking gorgeous day PUNCHBUG). I wanted to stop at the abodega* to get some Excedrin because, despite the gorgeousness of the weather, I had such an intense pain that it was incurable-without-overdoses-of-caffeine-pills-frontin'-themselves-as-headache-meds. But as I neared the bodega where I would usually stop on my way home from work, I thought, the weather's nice enough to go to Treasure Island for this, and ALSO THEY HAVE CHEESECAKE THERE BECAUSE TREASURE ISLAND IS THE MOST EUROPEAN SUPERMARKET AND THEY HAVE CHEESECAKE IN EUROPE.
As I skipped along, past the bodega and the naysayers of happiness-by-artificial-sweetened-means, I thought to myself JESUS CHRIST I AM GETTING CHEESECAKE I AM SO EXCITED IT WILL BE SO GOOD AND WILL BE CHEESECAKE.
Compared to the walk to the store, the cheesecake-selection process was rather tame. The cheesecake was there, the woman carefully wrapped it, I did not scream or yell out with joy, but merely allowed my thudding heart to do all of my talking for me. (Except for 'slice of cheesecake', and 'thank you' because I read Emily Post.) I had my fucking cheesecake and I was so happy with it that I didn't even need the Excedrin anymore. My headache had disappeared on account of love. love and bliss.
On my way home, I noticed a little girl walking 10-12 paces behind her mother and younger sister. Whenever I see children like this, I am tempted to steal them. Mainly because, like, what would their mothers even do? What if I just said, "whoops, thought this one belonged to me," and kept whistling the Andy Griffith theme? That would hurt their fucking heads. You don't want to tackle a stranger, even if she did just try to abduct your daughter. "No harm, no foul"?
But what if she didn't even notice? I don't want the responsibility of a kid, but I more don't want the responsibility of being a criminal. It's a great life for certain people. Bumming on your friends' couches, building meth labs in abandoned RVs, etc. etc. It's possible I get all of my criminal knowledge from Breaking Bad, so what? IT'S A GOOD SHOW THE KID IS SO CONVINCING I WANNA BE A CANCER-RIDDEN DRUG MAKER, TOO, MOMMY.
So I decided not to steal the kid. But then, as I was passing her, I saw her eying my cheesecake box. Here's the thing, little kid: step off. This is my cheesecake. I have big plans for this cheesecake. I am going to get a fork and open up the cheesecake box and GO TO TOWN. This is no ordinary birthday cake. THIS IS CHEESECAKE, AND CHEESECAKE DON'T FOOL AROUND, LITTLE KID. Step. the motherfudge. off.
This thought made me angry enough to overrule my previous thought that I didn't want to be a criminal. If a little kid tried to steal my cheesecake, it is not outside the realm of reason that I would steal him and just run. Start running and not stop until the police knocked me over. Even then I would beg to finish my cheesecake before being hauled off to jail.
So that is why you don't mess with a woman's desert.
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