Brought to you courtesy of one million sources, I'm sure, but here it is from me, from The Stranger.
The Stranger has funny commentary, too. Yes, it's real; Reuters took it during a public meeting.
Doesn't he know if he has to potty?
The Bouncer did it, although he does it often. Dewey did it. And so will I.
Interesting facts I learned about work yesterday:
Brand new blog! Linny is awesome! She's a warrior!
And she records her experiences in the Spinster War Diaries. Check her out over in Blogs I Love.
Okay, so she's a dating warrior. Not a traditional one. No offense meant to those who are actually fighting for our country.
So, after this weekend, I'm feeling bitchy and really damn cynical, bordering on nihilistic. And I skated into work this morning with no security badge OR wallet, so no ID to prove who I was either, and although I could have convinced the guards I was who I am by giving my employee ID number and social security, I just didn't want to talk to anyone. Neither did I want to make the van drop me off at the guard station so I could argue with them and then walk all the way in.
So what did I do? I convinced everyone in the van to break company rules by not giving me away as I faked it. Some background: in the case of vanpools, one security guard checks that the van has a parking pass and looks at the driver's badge, while another security guard comes around to the sliding door, opens it, and looks in as everyone holds their badge up. Some of the guys on the van, being typical arrogant asshole engineers and former fighter jet pilots, joke about how the rent-a-cops don't do their jobs, as of course is the fate of all rent-a-cops everywhere. This morning we tested it. Everyone in the van knew I didn't have my badge, and everyone also knew (because we talked about it at length) that I also happened to have a temporary badge from some time ago. This temp badge looks NOTHING like a real badge. It's just a white piece of paper with my name and employee ID number on it, in a plastic sleeve, with a big red date (in gigantic letters) stamped across the front. You get these on the days you forget your badge--assuming you have your wallet and can convince the guards you are who you say you are--and you're supposed to turn them in at the end of the day. Ha.
I made it into a bet. Everyone in the van was in on it. I was sure one of them would lose their nerve at the last minute and blurt out to the guard that I was trying to get in without my badge--engineers REALLY don't like breaking rules, except for the occassional rebel like me. I had a partner in crime, fortunately, or else I probably wouldn't have been able to convince the entire van by myself--I mean, you could feel the stiff disapproval in the air. However, one of the van regulars is one of the few engineering avericks--he's one of the ex-fighter-pilots and he's also cynical and anti-rules, especially stupid ones, and he was totally on my side and all hyped up about it. The security guard comes to the door, opens it, and looks in. I barely hold up my plastic-covered white slip. Everyone in the van holds their breath. The guard nods. "Thank you very much," he says. Before the door even slams shut, my partner in crime in the shotgun seat turns around and gives me his fist in celebration, and I'm frozen in my seat, giving him a withering glance. "Just hold it right there," I said, smiling. He's totally confused, but he waits as the van drive past the security guards and turns the corner. Only then did I respond to his fist, but I took the opportunity to educate him, and the entire van. "Apparently you've never led a life of crime! You always want to wait until AFTER you've moved out of earshot and line-of-sight to celebrate."
Partner in Crime blew off the advice. "They weren't paying attention anyway," he scoffed. I wasn't so sure. In any case, I stand by my advice, although I'm a little wary of the consequences of showing my criminal mind--excuse, I mean, my "healthy disregard for the rules" to the entire vanpool!
Oh well.
I have so many things to write about and I'm not sure where to begin.
The really long comment on SheWalks' blog about my breasts?
One of my new friends gave me shortbread. With cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on the top. It's wonderful. :)
And this wasn't even what I was planning to rant about. I was planning to rant about A Girl I Hate, honestly I was, but after thinking about it a lot this morning I've realized I don't hate her anymore. My hate has dimmed and spread into general contempt for that entire lifestyle--the "get married early, be an uptight square" kind of lifestyle. Yes, when she didn't invite me to her wedding it hurt, because everyone else was invited, even a mutual friend of ours that she didn't know as well. (And I wish she had told me face to face so that I wasn't surprised. She told Mutual Friend flat-out that she only wanted to invite the people she really liked, which really hurt, and I wish she had told me we weren't friends anymore in person.) Yes, I was even more mad because Mutual Friend took his girlfriend, even though she wasn't invited, and Girl I Used To Hate didn't care, which makes me see red because if you're going to be an uptight square, you might as well do it CORRECTLY (Etiquette books, anyone?) and also it should have been ME at that wedding with Mutual Friend as my date. I fumed for a long time and hoped that Girl I Hate would die a horrible death.
Still with me? This is on my mind now because there was just a wedding, again. With the college friends, and sorority sisters, of which Girl I Used To Hate is one. And she was Matron of Honor at the wedding. I like the girl and guy who had the wedding, but they are so connected to a general pattern of Excluding Aarwenn--for example, the guy is my Big Brother in a fraternity, except his other little sisters hated me and routinely planned Family Dinners to which I was not invited, therefore effectively banishing me from the family, and Big Brother NEVER STOOD UP FOR ME, EVEN THOUGH I ENCOURAGED HIM TO DATE THE GIRL WHO IS NOW HIS WIFE, and of course Girl is very close to Girl I Used To Hate, and also GIUTH's Little Sister told me I was invited to HER wedding and then took it back...
So it's disconcerting to be told over and over again by Girl and Guy that they wanted me at their wedding, blah blah blah, lots of emails...and then I never got an invitation.
Girl reassured me that I was on their list of people to invite, but they knew I couldn't come (true, I had another wedding on the same day) and so they never sent me one...but I'm still in their database!!! Gee, thanks so much.
So, the question is: Do I still owe them a present?
And how can I be mad at uptight squares who have no etiquette? Isn't that hypocritical?
No. Etiquette is a set of tools for dealing with any social situation. Etiquette is a foundation of pleases and thankyous so that incredibly dirty things can happen--married boss has sex with hostess' boyfriend in coat closet, maybe--and the party still goes on. It's a microcosm for life--if you have tools to deal, you can handle a problem, even a big problem, and you work through it and keep going, because you know how to work through a problem. You have the tools. Etiquette is like that.
Uptight squares, on the other hand, don't have that foundation--what they have instead is intolerance. When ugly situations arise, or curveballs are thrown, they stiffen up and ignore it, because they don't know how to deal. (Yes, I'm aware I'm not really making sense--I'm ranting.) They don't accept flaws or snags. Problems can throw them for a loop. Black sheep of the family are disowned. Or swept under the rug. Sometimes problems are completely ignored.
I feel slightly better knowing that there are some chinks in the armor of the uptight squares that I know--that I comforted Girl I Used To Hate through long nights of hysterical crying over her would-be fiance, for example. I know other Uptight Square couples who have secret infidelities. Uptight Squares may act perfect, and willful blind ignorance may work for them. Fine. I prefer my messy, neurosis-driven friends, with whom I acutally TALK, honestly, about problems. I'm sad that Girl I Used To Hate and I can't be like that. But I'm happy with my etiquette and my tools to fix both trivial and deeper problems--and anyone I count among my friends is, too.
And speaking of tools? What do you think? Do I owe Girl and Guy a wedding present? I think yes.
I have learned how to hold my tongue! I can do that now!
Well, sort of.
For example, it's well known that I'm a health nut, both on this blog and here in Real Life at the office. And through some management changes that happened this week, I now have both an immediate manager and HIS manager in town, in the office, not more than a few yards away from my desk. And this is fine, although management changes always shake everyone up a little, and because I'm a people-pleaser, I really want the new manager to like me, and so I'm on my toes, trying to do the right thing all the time, for at least the first few weeks.
And so when the Big Manager brings the New Immediate Manager out to lunch, and Mentor goes, AND Lead Engineer goes, and Lead Engineer NEVER goes out to lunch, and they invite me, I decide that it would be a good thing if I go, too. (The Other Woman in the office didn't feel like going, apparently, which tells me why her career here at B----- has been so checkered. Turning down lunch with two managers and Lead Engineer? All card-carrying members of the B----- Gentlemen's Network? And then complain on a weekly basis that you feel "shut-out" of office decisions? And are surprised when your budget is cut? Are you STUPID? But I digress.)
So here we are at lunch, four men and a lady (ha!). Two Managers, Lead, Mentor, and me. I'm a little nervous, but I'm trying not to show it. Trying to get to know the New Manager. The rest of the guys all get pizza, chips, fried fish, etc. I get a big salad. (Hey--if I eat carbs at lunch I fall asleep, okay? I'm sorry to perpetuate stereotypes, but damn me if I'm going to get a slice of pizza when I want a salad just to BREAK a stereotype. That's just as ridiculous.)
Big Manager looks at my plate. Spinach, tomatoes, broccoli, cottage cheese. "Baa-a-a-a-a-a-a," he says.
I've worked with Big Manager for my whole career so far, and I feel comfortable with him, so I shoot back, "Lead Engineer is eating vegetables too--why don't you make fun of him? I don't look at your plate and say, 'Oink, Oink,' do I?"
Everyone laughs. Big Manager looks down at his plate, confused. "I'm not eating pork, I'm eating fish!"
And, y'all, here's the key: I didn't jump in to explain the joke. I said to myself, Self, it's not important if other people think you made a dumb joke. YOU know that you were funny. If the other guys got it, they'll know that you were, too. You'll only insult Big Manager more if you explain the joke, hammering home that you called him a pig AND that he was too dumb to get the joke the first time.
And so I said, "Oh yes, you're right." And kept eating my spinach.
There's a very old guy who has also moved in to sit next to me. He's old (did I mention that?) and Hawaiian and reminds me a lot of the teacher from the Karate Kid, except so far I am NOT impressed with his actual brains--he was sure that IAM wasn't going to strike, for example. HA. He likes to ask me how to map network drives--wait, beg pardon, he didn't actually ask ME, he asked MENTOR. A man who was at that moment running late for a meeting, and this old, slow, blinking Hawaiian guy asked him how to map a network drive. I offer to help, instead, shooing Mentor out the door. Old Hawaiian looks at me. "You can do that?" he says.
It was clear to me that he thought that mapping network drives is something that only skilled people can do, a learned technique, and that only old experienced guys like Mentor could do such a thing. It never occurred to him that since I was younger, I would automatically have more computer skills than Mentor.
In fact, I have very little patience with old people in general. Slow blinking ones are more irritating than others, but what's annoying is they don't understand that in today's world, they may have engineering experience, but their very age counts AGAINST them. Or at least it does with me. They are slow to understand that computer skills are linked to age because, once they realize that, what does that make them? Archaic and useless? Yes, it does. And no one wants to realize that their very age--something they cannot change--is a large black mark against them.
This is why B----- annoys me--they value age and experience, not skill. They value tradition, not innovation. They may SAY they do, but they don't. They have retained all their old engineers all these years, and fired only the new engineers in the layoffs, and so now all these 65 year-olds are begging to retire, and B----- is facing a real brain drain. (I think it's high time, but I am concerened that there's no middle generation to take up the load--there's barely anyone between 50 and 25.)
If they had only fired some of their old engineers earlier! They could have saved money--new engineers demand a lot lower salaries--and kept the knowledge flowing, but now they're stuck, and unions haven't helped. Our union requires this thing called a retention index assigned to each person, which is based 85% on seniority, so the more senior you are, the less likely you are to get fired. And that's a union thing that B----- can't change.
Anyway. But this Old Hawaiian was gone for lunch one day and because he doesn't know how to set up his voice mail, when his office phone rang...it rang 25 times. And then whoever it was tried him on his cell phone, because it clearly wasn't a business call (the Old Hawaiian works less than I do) and his cell phone rang--with a very loud annoying musical ditty--another 14 times. Because Old People have absolutely no cell phone etiquette whatsoever. And never ever think of turning their damn phones on mute. (I would DIE if my cell phone went off at the office.) And when he returned, this is what I said:
"Hey, would you like me to help you set up your voicemail on your office phone?"
And he said sure. And we went on.
Later on, I was getting lunch, and a cubemate stopped me in the hallway. "I just want you to know," he said, "that you were so polite and deserve a medal. I would have beaten both phones to a bloody pulp."
So I'm improving! Really! And I made friends, as has been previously mentioned, but the REALLY cool thing is that it turns out that THEY have friends who WORK ON MY STUFF! I made my own business contacts! On my own! With no hand-holding! Now I have toys! It's awesome.
Over these 1974 Weight Watchers cards.
In other news, the party was a smashing success. Several games of beer pong were completely demolished. Apparently some people's tolerances were, too. We all found it odd that although Roommate comes from a more backwater area than I do and several of his gigantic countrified friends came (one had chops and a handlebar mustache, at 26) that it was MY friends who caused the most trouble. My ashtray was dropped and broken by one--sad, but what can you do? Another one drank himself belligerent and maudlin, caused a ruckus, and then fell asleep outside his car, on the ground, on rough gravel. A quote:
"He's passed out in a pool of his own vomit."
"Is he okay?"
"Yeah, he's fine."
Hey, we've all seen worse.
I fell asleep with all my clothes on while we still had guests in the house. I do that a lot.
Also, my proactiv came very quickly, but I didn't start using it until yesterday, my mailman has a crush on me and it's annoying, and I went to Bumbershoot and saw Aqueduct, Brazilian Girls, and Mudhoney. Aqueduct was pretty boring, Brazilian Girls and Mudhoney were AWESOME. Woo!
WOO HOO!
And they're not even interns! They're not leaving! Or already gone! (And if they were, it would be very hard to befriend them anyway.)
They're real, full-time workers, and they work HERE at MY SITE, and even better they work in MY BUILDING! And they were excited about meeting me! And they're cool! WOO!
And better yet, we've decided to schedule weekly lunches. So we're all hanging out every Wednesday, at 11:30, every week. Rock on. I'm really, really hyped up--meeting new people, especially other hyper engineers who speak my language, is exciting, and we all fed off each other until we were literally shouting over each other in the cafeteria.
And for anyone local, yes, I will probably be crossing picket lines to go to work tomorrow. Things are awfully tense around here. And yes, gas is about to skyrocket and New Orleans is hell on earth. What else is there to do but shout and laugh?
And also donate to the Red Cross, of course, which I did. And then I'll donate again tomorrow when B-----'s Community Fund swings into action and starts to match our donations. There are some perks to working at a big company. And then there's the blodd drive a week from today. And y'all better know I'm donating to THAT.
In a hurry last night between walking Titan to Proctor with mom, running over to New House to get the keys (!) and introduce Titan to Figaro, Monica's cat (!!) and running out to Federal Way by 7 pm for Tutoring (which went SMASHINGLY...)
I dropped by Stadium Thriftway. I got a huge iced mocha breve, my drink from high school, and a rosemary roll.
I'm almost over the waves of nostalgia that come with drinking iced mocha breves, although I suspect I'll never quite be over them.
But the rosemary roll...I didn't eat it until just a few minutes ago, as the Mom of the kids I tutor fed me last night, so I saved the roll for this morning.
As I heated it up in the cheap office microwave, I was overwhelmed by the smell of warm rosemary, and thought about the time in my life last year--about nine months ago--when I was working for a lawyer, and basically living the life of every pissed-off administrative assistant under the sun. Peruse the Best of Craigslist for more hysterical administrative assistant rants than you can shake a stick at. Like I said, the job wasn't great, but it was summer--I worked there from late June through late September--and it was GORGEOUS outside, sunny and perfect, and I had broken up with Chris and enjoying being single (and having boys all over the place) and enoying the location--I could walk to work through the park every day, which I did, and often stopped at Stadium Thriftway for those mochas. And jo-jos, when I was still drunk or hungover, and Naked Juices or Odwalla Juices, and what I called Credit Card Cheeses--little individually wrapped credit-card-shaped slices of Tillamook Cheese, and all kinds of other treasures, especially the dip sample bins. My journal entries are full of memes and party talk--I was making just enough money to pay bills and drink heavily, (see: jo-jos) and I wasn't working more than six hours a day.
And even though I was broke and writing columns and short stories that were going nowhere and being turned down for About.com, not to mention being stuck on a freezing-cold Alaskan cruise for a week with my extended family, I was happy. A lot happier that I had been the previous spring, when I was a sad, sad little girl, with no money and drum lessons I couldn't afford and a boyfriend who wasn't right for me and no sense of direction. But not as happy as I was just last winter when I loved my job, I had disposable income for the first time in a year, I was part of the service community in Pioneer Square, I gave in and fell in love with TheBoy, and B----- said they would hire me.
Sigh. I love the smell of warm nostalgia in the afternoon.
...Because I found a brand new blog that I really like. Check it out over there on the side--it's on the very TOP! She's AWESOME! And she uses the word "everyday"! (Man, I should have gotten that word--in this specific usage--copyrighted. It's blowin' up. And I was first, damnit.)
And for your convenience, as a way to sample without committing to clicking the blog link (much like I wish proactiv would do for me) there's two specifically wonderful entries below:
Experience has made me mich. (aka Why Men Should Pay For Dates.)
and
They say she's working like a man, but they don't understand.
I mean, who can NOT love a blogger who references poems or songs with every post title?
Yes, I did. I just got regular shipping, although if I had known it would take 2-3 weeks, I would have gotten the faster shipping. So there will be no report for awhile.
But my skin has always been my worst enemy. And I thought I'd have to live with it like this until I just grew out of it. But it doesn't look like I'm growing out of it--and it's gotten worse since I was in high school. I've always remembered having acne--until I saw old pictures of myself the other day and realized that highschool pictures of me have much clearer skin. Humph.
We'll just see how it goes.
And now that I'm thinking about this clearly, I realize that there's an effin' proactiv booth in my local mall. I could have just bought the whole thing there without the shipping costs. I wonder if they'd give me some samples?
Forget all about that last unhappy post--I've been tagged! And it's Friday! And I'm going out for sushi! WOO-HOO!
Seven things I plan to do before I die:
1. Take a long backpacking trip
2. Become a published author
3. Sing in a band
4. Live in New York
5. Own a beach cabin and ski cabin
6. Learn another language
7. See Southeast Asia
Seven things I can do:
1. Write
2. Sing
3. Play instruments
4. Act
5. Drive a stick shift
6. Think Logically
7. Talk
Seven things I cannot do:
1. Drive safely or slowly
2. Be monogamous
3. Refrain from criticizing people
4. Accept authority
5. Be humble
6. Let go of obsessions
7. Do something illegal cleanly--it's madness to put this on here, but it's really something I cannot do. I thought it fit.
Seven things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. Intellect and sense of humor. I can't separate these; they're equally important!
2. Trivia knowledge
3. Tolerance/Support of diversity
4. Rangey skateboarder build
5. Courage
6. Artistic ability
7. Athletic ability
Seven things that I say most often:
1. "Like..."
2. "I KNOW!"
3. "I do what I can."
4. "For REAL."
5. "I was under the impression that..." (Useful for tense work situations)
6. "I'm STARVING!"
7. "Hey, he's cute!"
Seven celebrity crushes:
1. Mark Wahlberg
2. Kanye West
3. Josh Homme
4. Christian Bale
5. Brad Pitt
6. Johnny Depp
7. Garret Hedlund
Seven people I want to do this:
1. T-town girl
2. leah
3. Ms. Pan
4. Shananigans
5. Beau
6. Aphra99
7. TWAM
Yes. Unhappy. And the reasons, if I listed them, would look petty and stupid, for the main reason that they ARE petty and stupid. But knowing that doesn't make me feel any better. Yes, I have eaten--I'm eating right now. So I've done all I can, physically, to better my mood. Now I'm going to go smoke a cigarette, but I'm so full of piss and vinegar and I may just light my backyard on fire instead.
Oh FitDay.com, how I love you! Let me count the ways in which you are better than the Excel spreadsheets I was previously using to track both the calories I ate and the superfoods I consumed. Plus the occasional investigation online as to how many calories I burned doing my favorite activities. You let me set goals, you let me know politely but firmly when I don't achieve them, you let me track consumptionAND exercise...and you have nifty pie charts! I love you, www.fitday.com!
Also, I love T-town girl and dewey for mentioning fitday on the same day--the omen of the stereo blogging encouraged me to check it out. Bless you, ladies.
Sometimes, I read my IIF's blogs, (my single girls, you know I'm talking to you!) and I just want to scream, "XXXXXXXXX!"
The X's are in place because what I want to say will probably insult them.
It's odd that these women and I have so much in common--bloggers, internet addicts, all about the same age, all looking for love, professional, pet owners...and yet we are so different in the way we approach our love lives. Proving, once again, that your immediate peer group--as in, the girls that you've grown up with and actually see on a regular basis, or at least enough to party with--are the biggest influence in your life, no matter how much time you spend on the internet.
Some blogging women really inspire me--Crazy Aunt Purl, for example, is my hero. Other women inspire me on a more intermittent basis, as I'm sure I do to others--we all have our moments of brilliance!
But it's my girlz who influence me the most. I party with them, I look at boys with them, it's them I call when I need advice right this minute, so it's only natural that their outlook on love is what influences me the most. And, from reading blogs, it's becoming more clear to me that we're awfully old-fashioned.
Blame our mothers--both my mother and JustMarriedFriend's mother are Southern. And old. And still with their husbands. BestFriend's mother was raised conservatively and BestFriend's father was too, so when they wanted to start sleeping together, they got married first. And they're still together. SouthernBelle is, obviously, Southern. And on top of all that, I surround myself with men 24-7--I live with one, I'm dating one, I work with all men, etc, etc. It's impossible to describe how little female interaction I get during a typical day--no roommate to come home to, only two women in my entire building that are anywhere close to my age, etc, etc. The few women I do talk to--including close friends and business friends--I have bonded with very closly, but we get about 10 minutes a week to talk.
What does all this add up to? I'm old fashioned. (Girls, you would be surprised how conservative men really are in their love lives.) I went through a 'chasing men' period right when I moved back to my hometown from college, and I hated myself every second of it. Before that, and since then, I've let men come to me, and it's worked beautifully. So what does this have to do with the title? I want to be an anonymous advice giver for my blogging girls, so that I can say what I think with no repercussions. And hope my little bit of anonymous advice will sink in. But that's a low-class, cowardly thing to do--hiding behind anonymity. I can either say what I think and be prepared to defend it, or I can keep my mouth shut. And right now I'm opting for shut. I love you all.
This is the weekend that Roommate moved in.
This is the weekend that I went to a wedding and Roommate moved in.
This is the weekend that I got in a fight with TheBoy and I went to a wedding and Roommate moved in.
There's boy stuff on my sink—like Hugo Boss cologne on the counter, and an electric shaver, and Nivea for men facial wash and other special just-for-men stuff. There's boy stuff in my shower—he brought his own shower caddy, and there's Old Spice High Endurance body wash in my shower. And a pouf. (I don't even use a pouf.)
There's a gigantic TV in my living room—like, it blocks out the sun—and two huge bookshelves of books and movies. There's a big white leather sofa. That reclines. There's a portable bar in my kitchen. This boy has way nicer stuff than I do. That's fine, now I can just use his. :)
Last night was the first night he spent in the house and I couldn't sleep—way too keyed up. There's a boy in my house, there's a BOY in my HOUSE, THERE'S A BOY IN MY HOUSE! This morning I was up at the crack of dawn and had 55 minutes to get ready instead of the normal 30. I brewed my own coffee before I left and everything. And I haven't wanted to sleep once. If I'll remain this keyed up for awhile because of the new energy in my space, I should be paying HIM for living here. (Shhhhh. Don’t tell him, okay?) UPDATE: The minute I typed that, I of course began falling asleep in my chair. Hmmm.
And in my many musings today, I've come up with this: do we naturally bond platonically with members of the opposite sex who remind us of our significant others? For example it's a well known fact around the office that I remind Mentor of Mrs. Mentor—I've never met her, but apparently we're sisters lost at birth, according to Mentor. It's not surprising, of course; Mentor and I bonded in my first day here, and he loves his wife, so it's not surprising that two women he likes resemble each other in personality. And Roommate reminds me very strongly of TheBoy—they don't look at all alike, but they relate to me in similar ways. Roommate is much more mouthy and a smartass. TheBoy is more of a quiet source of humor, suddenly breaking out with hysterically goofy shit. But I went grocery shopping with TheBoy (he just called me out of the blue and offered a ride, since he was going shopping and he knew I didn't have a car, so did I want to come with him? DID I?) and he bought all kinds of meat, a two-gallon jug of very cheap milk, frozen breakfast sandwiches, and a 12-pack of PBR.
I bought: three organic oranges, two organic kiwis, two kinds of baked organic tofu, organic celery hearts, 100% cranberry juice, organic baby carrots, a Naked Juice (Green Machine), two bags of soy-rice crisps, one bag of corn-vegetable flour pasta, a 24 pack of string cheese, a very small block of extra-sharp cheddar cheese, ground corn flour for polenta, and a few other things I can’t quite recall. The boy had one more bag than I did PLUS a two gallon of milk PLUS a 12 pack of PBR, and he pointed out that his bill was still 4 dollars less than mine. He likes to point out that I’m a health nut.
Funny how this didn't stop him from compulsively eating most of a bag of my soy-rice crisps, though.
I told this story to Roommate, who laughed, and then came and looked in the fridge. He closes the fridge. He opens the fridge again. He closes the fridge. He looks at me. Silently, he picks up the receipt from the grocery store.
"I really thought you were exaggerating when you said you were a health nut. Apparently not. I don’t even know what half of this shit is."
He reminds of me of TheBoy the first time I bought kefir in his presence. At least we won't have any trouble separating our food.
