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The trouble with putting things in your mouth

I’ve put some things in my mouth today and it hasn’t gone well. First I made a salad with a bag of triple-washed lettuce only I think some other bag was probably washed six times and mine none because I found a bug in my salad and later a clump of dirt. I’m kind of embarrassed to admit the time between the bug and the dirt as it reveals that I picked the bug out and kept eating as opposed to shrieking, throwing the lettuce in the air and jumping up onto the couch as would be girly, however I’m not going to let a bug keep me from food. I am,  however, going to let a mouthful of dirt keep me from food. GROSS I said, spitting out gritty mud chunks and throwing out the compromised lettuce. So then I put a Lean Cuisine dinner in the microwave—steak tips portobello which is 160 calories and always cracks me up because I imagine someone going for a manicure and asking for steak tips on their nails! HA!—and the gravy-esque sauce got all over the interior of  the microwave because some loser (pssst…. it was me!) didn’t properly vent the film on top of the tray. What a bunch of bullshit!

The universe is trying to tell me that I need a personal chef, clearly.

Oh and one more thing about the trouble with putting stuff in my mouth: I dropped two blobs of the frozen dinner on myself. One on my fashionable sweatpants and one on my stylish t-shirt. Now I look fantastic but I smell like gravy! Or something which approximates gravy! Gravo!

In other news, big Ustream show on Wednesday! A producer for The Daily Show will trim my hair while I freak out. If you want to read up on how this came to be, I explain it in this post, beginning  under the pic of Pat Kiernan.

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An Open Letter To The Guy Who Lives In My Building And Only Appears When I Look Like Crap

Dear attractive gentleman who just moved into the building who only appears when I looks like crap,

So it seems we’ve met again just now. You were on your phone outside, wearing a tight-but-not-too-tight royal blue t-shirt that showed off your toned arms. I was wearing sweatpants, a gray t-shirt with stains on it and no bra. My hair was down and stringy and I wasn’t wearing makeup. Perhaps you didn’t recognize me from the last time we met, when the elevator opened on my floor and you were inside, wearing a natty suit and I was outside, holding two large smelly bags of garbage. I do own other clothes, but you wouldn’t know it since you cease to exist when I wear anything other than sweatpants. In fact, you might be a figment of my sweatpants’s imagination. I realize this is a leap, however there are plenty of times I’ve been wearing clothes that don’t also see the inside of a gym, and plenty of times I’ve actually been wearing makeup or at least, say, showered that day, and where are you?

If I were younger and more up for an adventure I would have quickly come back to my apartment tonight, changed and slapped on makeup and then gone back downstairs and tried to play if off like I’m someone else. Perhaps I would have made a passing reference to my lookalike roommate who works weird hours fighting crime but who’s gone undercover as a homebody. But I guarantee you wouldn’t be there.

However I suspect that if I were to put on retainers you’d actually appear in my room, which would be awkward.

And that’s why my teeth are slowly getting crooked.

(Bet that’s not where you thought this was going!)


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