This is the way we spend $6k
spend $6k
spend $6k
This is the way we spend $6k
so earl-I-in the mornin’

This is the way we tear up sh*t
tear up sh*t
tear up sh*t
This is the way we tear up sh*t
so earl-I-in the mornin’

This is the way we O-ver pay
O-ver pay
O-ver pay
This is the way we O-ver pay
so earl-I-in the mornin’

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

I couldn’t find inspiration in the topics that MamaKat had outlined today, so I am creating my own. Call it marching to the beat of my own drum, call it childish insolence, whatever. I call this topic, “how to find a private moment with your best friend.”

1. Location – selecting your environment is crucial. Pick a location that will allow for noise, but also will allow you the time needed to move through all the steps without interruption. I prefer the kitchen which has quick access to a deep trash can, and allows me a field of vision that will alert me to intruders. But certainly the privacy of your car works as well.

2. Variety and Quantity – This is personal preference, and certainly the quantity is between you, your God, your arteries, and your life coach. When it comes to chocolate, I prefer “brown”, and all that it encompasses. Just no nuts. Nuts are a distraction. Creamy center? Absolutely. Amend the nut comment- Cadbury Fruit and Nut.

I also prefer the small, individually wrapped sort, the kind you put in the holiday bowl for when your guests come over, but that have to be refilled because you put them out WAY too far in advance of guests. I like the small ones, since you can have it in your mind that you are just going to have four, but then you accidentally grabbed five, it’s strangely…ok. And you can always go back to the bowl…you know…for dessert.

3. Preparation – Whatever you do, DO NOT unwrap them all at once. If you do this, and then are tempted to pop them in your mouth one at a time, you will be melting chocolate with your fingers. Bad move. Melting is the mouth’s work. Instead, unwrap them one at a time, popping each in it’s turn in your mouth.

Do you know why this is so crucial? It’s about TEXTURE. I’ll explain.

4. Execution – Especially in the case of Hershey’s Kisses or simple bricks of plain dark chocolate, rate and quantity are the key. The moment of bliss will come when you can feel the first piece melting and running around your gums, and then you throw one last virgin piece on top of the others, creating a mouthful of chocolate in varying stages of decomposition. At this point, savor, but don’t swallow. And PRAY that no one comes in the room, necessitating flushing your Picasso down the esophageal toilet.

Swallow in sections now, releasing what you need to in order to in order to explore the remaining treasure. Work at a speed that is comfortable for you and your hiatal hernia, and sadly finish. Realize that your hand has been gripped around the empty wrappers for the past seven minutes, and place them down the side of the brimming trash can so as to avoid their detection.

5. Repeat – If you think that your time is still in abundance, along with your needs, you may repeat the above steps. Depending on how many times you return to the bowl, make a note to buy a replacement bag tomorrow so as to avoid any inquisition.

6. Milk. – Finally, when your palate has moved into the post-coital aftermath stage, drink milk from the gallon jug off the door of the fridge. This will be a pleasure in itself, but will also aid in the hiding of evidence. Swish it around. Swallow. Sigh. Head upstairs to the bathtime screams, and try not to think about the pimples packing their bags excitedly for their vacation at Your Face.

I can already hear my wife’s words as I finish reading this instructional:

“You really do this??”

Thanks to the lovely MamaKat for her creation of the Writer’s Workshop, and for setting the stage for this pathetic confessional.

If you are new to my blog, leave me a comment so I can come visit yours… If you are a returnee, then you know what is expected of you.

Also, do you have a better caption for the photo above? I’d love to hear it! er…See it! er…Read…aw hell..whatever…

Thanks again to Angie for another ragin’ Wordful Wednesday…

First off, I have an unconfirmed report that Wal-Mart may have upped the price of Oak Leaf wine to $2.97. This is a stunning blow to those of us who have been drinking it after your 4yr old throws her 78th fit of the day and you finally get her to bed, and reach for a bottle.

I will be pushing past my liver pain and trekking to the local Wal-Mart with Wal-Mart Bingo Card in hand today (Thanks, Candice, you smelly pirate hooker) to verify this tragic development, and will report back.

And to those of you who tried this wine and threw it back in my face for it not being the second coming, I think you may have missed the frickin’ point…

It’s not a great wine. It’s an average wine.

It’s a GREAT wine……………….for $2.88.

It’s a MIRACULOUS wine…………..for $2.88.

Now, for $2.97………………….we’ll see.

the horror…the…horror…

$2.97, and out of stock. If you need me, I’ll be in my room.

I first kissed a girl in 1984. Not the book, the year. True to some Orwellian prophecy however, people watched me do it, and I was confused and terrified the entire time.

Now you must understand, I had kissed girls before. A couple of Barbies will attest to the fact that I had normal male urges…I simply lacked supporting actresses. Being a somewhat sheltered teenage boy and the little brother to a hellcat older sister, I had not yet seen much action, clearly.

Always husky and pimple-ridden, my high school experience in Holland had been a 3 year collection of sub-par sports performances, grades only good enough to keep me out of a special education program, quite a bit of Southern Comfort and 7up, and Marlboro Lights. And hash. Plenty of hash. In retrospect, maybe it was the Black Afghan that kept the girls away and made exams…foggy.

So one night I headed to our school-funded gathering place, “The Hole”, to finish out an evening with my extremely small clique after a full evening of 16 year old drinking at one of my fav bars. I say “one of”, as I had been patronizing the local bar scene since the tender age of FOURTEEN. It boggles the mind of a parent now, that Queen Beatrix in all her wisdom believed that there is nothing wrong with a 14yr old drinking whiskey as long as they wash it down with cheese, fried food and chocolate. Just don’t drive.

So, The Hole. Enter Jay, standing coolly at the doorway in my fartootightformyphysique jeans, docksiders with no socks, blue buttondown (no logo, couldn’t afford Izod or Polo), Varsity letter jacket with no tournament patches, pins, or anything at all to signify I was more than a 3rd stringer. Polo cologne, all pimples popped. Ready for …companionship.

And there she was. Suzan. The most beautiful girl in the school by many accounts, with her long flowing blond hair, angelic face, and I am stopping at the neck. But be advised, she looked…nice.

She had often said hello to me, and I had often wondered what was wrong with her for doing so. Sometimes gave me a hug, sometimes an intriguing glance, but certainly every encounter was a trophy in my poorly stocked relationship case. And once again she turned, saw me, and smiled.

Now, to describe my lack of experience would not do it justice. So I will paint the picture this way, and I am quite serious when I say, my version of “running the bases” was slightly different from most…a home run would be inked on my scorecard if I got a slow dance from Suzan.

I approached her, summoning every ounce of courage I had to ask the question, at which she smiled brightly, took my hand, and led me to the dance floor…which was…empty. She grabbed me, settled into an embrace, and I entered the gates of Heaven under the watchful eyes of many from our small school.

It was like…well, it is at this point I run out of words…to hold someone that beautiful, swaying with her, smelling her hair…it was like…

She suddenly pulled back from me, looked deeply into my deer-in-a-headlight gaze, and kissed me. Not a peck, mind you, not a teaser, she planted one. A big one. A wet one. I felt her tongue, and realized I was outmatched, and unprepared. Suzan had been around the track, and I, in my Radio Flyer, was having a hard time keeping up with her Andretti-like advance.

But it was a hell of a ride.

We kissed, and kissed, and kissed, for what seemed like hours, but may have just been the duration of “Hotel California” Then, taking my hand again, she led me from the dance floor through a shocked throng of gaping-mouthed friends to start our three month “romance”. At the end of three months, you see, and with that jewel on my arm, I began to summon the stares of more girls, and like the proverbial kid in the candy shop, I broke up with the lovely Suzan.

Pretty sure she was tired of coddling me through our makeouts anyway.

Wherever you are today, Suzan, I wish you health and happiness, and I thank you for taking a chance on a nerd like me.

Thanks to the lovely MamaKat for her creation of the Writer’s Workshop, and for setting the stage for this pathetic confessional.